


Advent '11

by demon_sloth



Series: Advent [2]
Category: Dark-Hunter Series - Sherrilyn Kenyon, Supernatural
Genre: Advent, Gen, M/M, Oh god oh god oh god, Other, chapter a day, fuuuck, why do i do these things to myself?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_sloth/pseuds/demon_sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean is ripped apart by hellhounds, there is one clear moment when he balks at what is happening and his soul screams out at the injustice of it all. Enter Artemis. Now Dean has to deal with daimons who aren’t demons and a brother who is stalking his new boss, not to mention the angels who turn up to ask why their righteous man isn’t breaking the first seal in hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings: Hopefully Dean/Cas and maybe Sam/Thorne – if not: no pairings.  
> Timeline: Set just after Seize the Night Dark-Hunters and the end of Season 3 Supernatural.  
> Warning: Violence, language, death, possibly slash (or mentions of), het…that’s all I can think of right now.  
> Disclaimer: Don’t own.

Dying _hurts_.

Dean doesn't know why this is the only clear thing in the liturgy of _oh-shit-oh-shit-fuck-fuck-fuck!_ But it is.

The hellhounds are not pretty and Dean is glad that he's never been able to see them before. To be honest, he'd be equally happy if he'd never had to see them. Because _dear God_ this piece of shit is the ugliest thing he's even seen in his entire life. And Dean has been around a lot of ugly things.

He can hear Sam screaming his name in the background and he wants to scream back. To beg for help, because now that it's here and it's happening, he's suddenly as scared as the night their mom died and dad had shoved Sam into his arms and told him to run.

But he can't because his mouth is full of blood. He can feel it pooling at the back of his throat and running down his chin.

And that bit of him, that 'big brother Dean' bit, is refusing to let the last memory Sam has of him be him begging to be saved. Especially when he knows Sam is trapped and can't reach him.

The hellhound's claws are ripping into him and Dean thinks they must be poisoned or something because this hurts worse than he thinks it should.

Or maybe it's because, even up to the last moment, he thought he'd get out of this somehow. That there was a loophole or a clause or _something_ that he didn't know about that would save him at the last minute.

He tries to fend off the teeth but his hands are batted away without any effort.

Dean can't believe that this is how he's going to go out.

That _this_ is the moment his life has been leading to.

He doesn't believe in God or heaven anymore and he _knows_ that the good guys don't always win, but – damn it!

This is so fucking unfair.

The hounds back off for a moment, and Dean chokes. Maybe he can drown on his blood before they come back.

Lilith is leaning over him, surveying him like the main course. He can see the enjoyment in her eyes. The sick bitch is turned on by this.

With the last of his strength, Dean hocks and spits. A glob of blood hits her straight in the face and, for a moment, Dean thanks every backwater bar he's ever had to hustle in that taught him how to do that.

Lilith is not amused.

"Get him."

The hellhounds are back. And it seems that before they were just playing because now they're really ripping into him. He can see Lilith , wearing that fucking smirk, and then his eyes slide to Sam.

Sam, who's crying silently, still pinned to the wall.

Their eyes meet, then a hellhound grabs his throat and, despite everything, he lets out one last scream.

The world stops.

Dean can feel the teeth and the claws still digging into him, but they're not moving. He can't even feel the stinking breaths anymore. He can see Lilith and Sam, frozen. He can even pick out motes of dust in the air, hanging suspended, and _Jesus_ is that his blood on the ceiling?

He's pretty sure he's supposed to be dead right now. He's not in pain though, so maybe he is. If so this is the weirdest hell he's ever been to.

What the Fuck is going on?

"Oh, disgusting."

Dean jerks at the woman's voice and tries to twist around. The teeth in his neck make this harder than usual. But when he _does_ finally see who else isn't frozen, his breath is sucked away.

Standing by his head is the most beautiful lady he's ever seen and, for a moment, he wonders if she's an angel.

She's tall, thick red hair curling over her shoulder, and wearing some sort of thin, white, drape-y material that looks part-dress, part-toga. She's also standing in a pool of his blood, but it's not staining the material. Dean has the weirdest urge to ask how she's managing it because Sam always bitches about blood ruining his clothes.

And, okay, maybe the blood-loss isn't killing him, but it's sure messing with his head.

She's looking down at him with boredom and a little distaste. But it's not like Dean can help it right now. Besides, he's feeling pretty Zen about it all.

He's been hanging around Sam too much if he knows words like 'Zen' and can use them in a sentence.

"You called me, mortal."

"Nrgle."

The woman frowns and clicks her fingers.

Dean finds himself completely free of Hellhounds. He blinks.

"I," the woman says pompously, "am Artemis, goddess of the hunt."

"Okay?" He says, bemused at this turn of events.

She huffs and crouches down, her hair tumbling so it brushes across Dean's cheek. "You have called me down to this plain, mortal-"

Dean's pretty sure he did no such thing.

"-and if you agree to my terms, I can grant you eternal life."

Wait. What?

"Catch?" He asks, because he's pretty sure there's a catch and, apparently, he can only speak in one word sentences.

"You would have to fight forever, against the daimons. To preserve the souls of humanity. Always hiding in the dark. Always alone. A Dark Hunter."

And, okay, but that sounds like his life so far. Except the alone bit because he's had Sam for the last few years. And why did he get the feeling the word 'dark' was capitalized?

Also, that doesn't sound like a big enough catch for immortality. His disbelief must have shown on his face because the woman scoffs.

"Do you think me _lying_ , mortal?"

"I think there's something you're not telling me."

She pouts. Dean thinks maybe this exchange will go a whole lot better if he wasn't lying in a pool of his own blood with his intestines half out.

" _Fine_. I require your soul."

There we go.

"I've already sold my soul. She's got it." He nods towards Lilith and immediately wishes he hadn't. When the room stops spinning it's to see Artemis looking unimpressed.

"You may have promised your soul to that _thing_ but you called out to me. Besides, you're a hunter, you fall under my rule and I won't give anything to a _demon_."

"If she doesn't get my soul Sam will die."

This causes the woman to turn her gaze on his brother.

"He's a hunter too?"

Dean nods, slowly this time.

"Then he's mine too." She says, "And he'll die when I _say_ he can die."

Dean's still not sure, but if he can get out of going to hell and still keep Sam alive then he's willing to spend time thinking about the offer. Especially when the job seems to be the same as the one he's been doing his entire life.

"So," he asks, just for clarification, "you'll keep Sam alive, keep me out of hell and give me immortality, and all I have to do is continue to be a hunter?"

Artemis thinks this through, "For the price of your soul. Yes."

Dean blinks. Well okay then. It's not like he's never sold his soul to someone before. And this chick seems nicer than the demon bitch. Anything that'll piss a demon off is worth doing.

And really, anything to keep him out of hell.

But, just to check…

"What if I say no?"

Artemis raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow and Dean is momentarily distracted.

"Then I leave and you'll go to hell."

Well if that's the case…

"And Sam will stay alive?"

"Yes, yes." She waves him off. "You'll become one of my Dark Hunter's and your brother will be kept alive."

"Then okay."

Artemis smiles, and Dean gets the impression that maybe he should've taken his chances with the demons. But before he can do anything she's leaning back down. He flinches when her finger touches the wound on the right side of his throat. It doesn't hurt, but he still expects it to.

When he opens his eyes again, she's standing straight and holding what looks to be a stone in her hand. Is that his soul?

Dean shifts and notices he's been healed. His clothes are still blood soaked tatters but everything else…

He pats himself down just in case. Nope, all there and in good working order.

"Oh, just to let you know, you have twenty four hours to get retribution for your wrongs." Artemis says, "And then I'd get out of the sun if I were you. Unless you want to burn."

Dean turns to her with wide eyes. "What?"

"After that someone will be with you to train you in your powers."

"Powers?" Dean will never, ever, admit that his voice squeaked.

Artemis smiles, clicks her fingers and time restarts.

There's a shocked pause. Sam is staring at Dean who is standing up and looking completely healthy. Lilith is staring at Dean and the woman who has just appeared.

"What have you done to my hellhounds?"

Artemis shrugs and examines her nails, "They were in my way."

Dean can see Lilith gritting her teeth. Then her eyes focus on the stone in Artemis' hand. "That's _my_ soul! He sold that to _me_."

And a demon having a temper tantrum just pushed Dean's weirdness scale off the charts.

Artemis levels the demon with a glare. "Hunter's souls belong to _me_ , demon. You should have known this when you made the deal. I let it pass once, but never again."

"What do you care?" Lilith spits, "You're a bitch!"

Artemis' lips thin. "You think to insult me? _Me?_ A goddess? _Learn your place!_ " she laughs mockingly.

This seems to push Lilith over the edge because she lets out a scream of frustrated rage and _dives_ for Artemis-

-who clicks her fingers.

Lilith, or the body holding Lilith, lights up from the inside. She looks shocked for a moment, then black smoke boils in her open mouth. Dean thinks the demon is going to escape but its sucked back in a moment before the body explodes.

Sam drops from the wall as the power keeping him pinned suddenly disappears.

"What the hell just happened?" Dean asks, because…well… _what_.

Artemis sniffs, and Dean notices that whilst both he and Sam are covered in goo, her dress is absolutely spotless.

"I killed her."

Sam blinks, "Killed the demon?"

Artemis rolls her eyes. "Yes. I don't like being attacked by minions with delusions of grandeur."

The next moment she's gone. Dean blinks and turns to Sam who seems to be having trouble working out what has just happened.

That's when Bobby arrives.

###

Dean doesn't really remember much after that. He's exhausted and only puts up a token protest when Sam takes the Impala's keys to get them home.

The lady's, _Artemis'_ , voice is still ringing in his head and, oh yeah, he has a really funky new tattoo where she touched his neck. It looks like a double bow and arrow.

Hunter indeed.

Sam is silent in the driver's seat, but Dean can see the glances he's being thrown every few seconds. It's like Sam just can't believe that Dean's still here. That after a _year_ , everything is done and sorted.

Not that Dean actually believes that. He knows that he's renegaded on a deal with a demon _and_ got out of the out-clause because, like the woman promised, Sam is still alive and kicking. And he knows that there's probably going to be a massive fallout from this and all sorts of catches and fine print that he doesn't know he's signed up for but-

But.

Sitting here in the Impala, the world outside stained with light on the eastern horizon, and Sam beside him; he can't bring himself to care. Artemis' words churn through his head again, especially the bit about burning in the sun after his time is up, and he makes a note to savour this last sunrise whilst he can.

It's with this thought that he slips off into sleep.

###

They arrive back at Bobby's late into the evening.

Dean wakes with a jolt and realises that he's slept away his last day of sunlight. He's only a little disappointed with himself, but he feels really, really good.

He feels even better when they get into the kitchen and realises that Bobby's stopped off on the way home and picked up what looks to be a crate of pie and beer.

Dean sits down and drags the nearest plate over to him.

"Mmm, cherry."

Bobby is sitting opposite him and snorts, cracking open a beer. Sam is hovering in the background like a pale ghost until Dean kicks out a chair.

"Dean…" Sam says and Dean points his fork at him.

"No."

"But Dean, I-"

"No, Sam." Dean frowns, "Don't turn my pie into a pity pie, okay?"

Sam grimaces and nods, staring down at the table, looking like a kicked puppy.

Dean feels like a jerk.

He pushes over a plate with what looks to be apple pie on it _damn it_ and Sam glances up at him through his fringe. Dean grunts.

"I'm happy you're not in hell."

The words come out rushed, like Sam expected Dean to snap at him for speaking and _god_ that makes Dean feel like even more of a douchebag. Sam deserves the apple pie for that.

Bobby rolls his eyes at the byplay and pins Dean with a narrowed eye glare. "Now, boy."

And _holy crap_ it's the you-will-not-mess-with-me-and-tell-me-every-wrong-you-have-ever-committed tone of voice.

Dean quails. Just a little.

"Yeah?" He asks, because he's a smartass and he's already died and Bobby's given him pie for still being alive so that must mean he cares. Right?

Maybe just a little?

"Mind telling me how you're ass isn't roasting in a fiery pit right about now?"

Dean swallows hard and the pie almost goes down the wrong way.

Oh crap. Bobby's going to kill him.

###

As expected Bobby chews Dean out when he explains what he's done. Then he sends both Sam and Dean off to shower whilst he buries himself in his books for any mentions of _Dark Hunters_ , the freaky tattoo on Dean's neck or the goddess Artemis.

He's still going at it when Dean gets back from washing demon goo from his hair. Bobby ropes him in to search the illustrations for anything resembling the woman because, as Bobby explains, just because she _said_ she was Artemis, doesn't mean she _is_.

Sam has disappeared somewhere and Dean worries that maybe he's trying to drown himself in the shower.

It's not until Dean's getting another beer when he notices Sam sitting on the porch through the kitchen window. It's not so weird a sight. When they were younger Sam used to like sitting out there with a book. He said it calmed him and he liked watching the sun set over the piles of beat up cars.

Dean had mocked him for it. But he had to admit that when the sun hit the metal just right, the whole place looked like it was on fire.

That wasn't so much a comfort now, but back then Dean thought it looked rather pretty. Then went to work on the Impala because no way was he admitting that.

Dean would leave Sam to his alone time, except the sun's already set and its getting cold. And he knows what this is about.

Bobby is still in the living room, searching through the books for any reference of Dark Hunters he can find. Dean is almost tempted to join him again.

Instead he sighs and goes out.

The door clattering against the frame startles Sam from whatever he's been thinking about and he jerks round, eyes wide. Dean can see him relax minutely and then tense, his face turning going through a range of emotions, when he catches sight of him. Dean thinks he can pick out a few of them; grief, relief, guilt, happiness, wariness, tiredness.

They cycle until Sam settles on something that's a mixture of guilt and exhaustion.

"Dean…" he says, half standing, twisting to face him.

Dean ignores whatever Sam is going to say, plopping down on the porch next to him and takes a swig of beer. It's disgusting, some cheap brand that Bobby picked up with the pie because it was the only thing the shop sold. But at the same time it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted because this time yesterday he didn't think he'd ever drink beer again.

Sam hesitates for a few seconds, caught off guard by Dean's actions, but drops back down. Together they look out at the darkness.

Sam shivers.

Dean passes him the extra beer he'd got out of the fridge.

Together they drink.

Sam puts his bottle down slowly and drops his head into his hands, curling into himself. Dean is partially amused at how he can fit himself into such a small space. Then he hears a shaking breath that is almost, _almost_ , a sob and it's not amusing at all anymore.

Dean grips Sam's shoulder. He can feel the way Sam is trembling, even if he can't see it, and Sam makes another one of those shaky breaths. His face still covered by his hands.

It reminds Dean of the time Sam was being bullied, and thought he couldn't tell Dean or their dad because he was scared of what they'd think of him.

Dean's suddenly fed up with all of this. He'd been attacked by demons and ripped apart by hellhounds, all in front of Sam.

Sam who had watched and lived and fought and stood with Dean through every day of Dean's last year on earth.

Sam who, it seems, is trying not to cry as he sits next to him.

Fuck it. He can give his brother a hug.

He slings his arms around Sam's shoulders and pulls him in in a tight one-armed hug.

Sam makes a startled noise; obviously he hadn't been expecting Dean to initiate anything. But before Dean can pull away in embarrassment Sam has turned and burrowed his way closer.

Dean thinks that maybe he should make a token complaint about the damp breath against his throat – right over that creepy new tattoo the lady had given him - or the way Sam is clutching his shirt so tightly it's starting to dig into the back of his neck.

But Sam's mumbling _sorry-I'm-so-sorry-I-tried-to-move-I-couldn't-move-couldn't-get-to-you-oh-god-Dean_ against his shoulder.

Instead Dean takes another swig of beer.

"Idiot." He says fondly, in a gruff manly fashion because there is _no way_ this is turning into a chick flick moment, and pulls Sam against him harder, resting their heads together.

Sam tightens his grip.

###

After their not-a-chick-flick moment, Dean and Sam head back inside to help Bobby.

"Well?" Dean asks.

Bobby snaps the book he's looking through shut and glares at the two of them. He takes in Sam's red eyes and pale face and his eyes soften for a moment.

Then Dean puts his bottle down on the table, perilously close to some rare manuscript of something or other.

Bobby glares at him from under his cap. "I'm not a damn machine. You know how many books there are? It'd go a lot faster if you two eejits help me."

He comes out harsh, but Dean knows how far this man put himself out for them. Knows that Bobby didn't run either, when he found out about Dean's deal. Went with him to stare his own death in the face.

He's suddenly grateful that this man is in his life.

"Yeah, okay." Dean says easily, sliding into a seat and pulling a book over from one of the piles. "What we looking for again?"

Sam snorts, and Dean is relieved to see his lips twitch up into a smile. "Dark Hunters. Or anything to do with the Greek pantheon."

"Right," Dean says, "because we all believe that the goddess _Artemis_ came down to save my sorry ass."

Sam shrugs as he pulls his own book over. "Someone did."

"And if they _weren't_ the goddess Artemis, then we should still figure out who it was, because they killed Lilith like a bug on a windshield."

Dean swallows, feeling his stomach roll as he remembers just how Lilith died, and _holy shit_ that lady was powerful. She'd killed the strongest demon Dean thinks he's ever gone up against with a wave of her hand. Like Lilith had been nothing.

And he'd sold his soul to her.

Bobby was right, he really was an eejit.

###

They manage to find a grand total of nothing.

Nowhere, in the whole of Bobby's collection, is there any mention of Dark Hunters.

It might have helped if they have more than the name to go off of. But not even the myths of the Greek pantheon had wielded information.

Bobby is rechecking the books in the belief that they'd just missed the information somewhere. Sam is checking the internet, but all he'd been able to find so far was a group that role played something or other along the geeky lines. Dean is cleaning his knives, having taken over the table by the front window to do so. A shotgun lay, fully loaded, by his elbow.

All of them were studiously not looking at the clock.

Sam is the first to break the silence.

"What time…?"

He doesn't finish his sentence, but then again, he doesn't need to. What time will the _somebody_ the lady mentioned be arriving.

Dean's twenty four hour grace period is almost up.

Dean concentrates on a spot on the blade - dried blood, rusted the metal slightly - and reaches for the oil.

It's Bobby who answers Sam's question.

"By my reckoning, we got about ten minutes." There's a sigh, "That is, if the person is bang on time."

Dean's hand hesitates.

Ten minutes.

This time yesterday he'd been getting ripped apart by hellhounds.

Huh.

He puts down the knife and picks up the shotgun, checking the rounds of rock salt. When he's satisfied he looks up. Sam is giving him a weird look. He ignores it and glances at the clock.

Five minutes left.

"Dean?" Sam asks hesitantly.

Dean stares out the window; from here he can see the whole of the driveway leading up through the car lot. Not that there's much to see, but the moon has risen enough that he'll be able to pick out anyone arriving.

"This person is gonna be sent by that lady. I'm not just going to sit back and let whoever it is waltz up to the front door and take me without getting some answers."

There's a silence and then Sam is standing on the other side of the front door, keeping an eye on both it and Dean, and Bobby is muttering about checking the salt lines again and guarding the back.

The five minutes tick over and nothing happens.

Dean can see Sam is tense but ready. He has the bearings of a true hunter at this moment, but there's a hint of desperation in it.

He knows why, but there's nothing that Dean can possibly say right now that will make it better. So he turns back to watching out the front window for someone to arrive.

Which is why he doesn't expect to hear a strangers voice coming from right behind him,

Before his mind can catch up with his body he has his shotgun up and aimed and fired.


	2. December 2nd

The round catches the guy in the chest and sends him spinning over the back of the sofa. There's a loud thump as he hits the floor and stays down.

Whoops.

Dean didn't mean to do that. But really, who appears behind a hunter and startles them anyway?

Okay, that isn't really an excuse for going salt-happy on the guy and wow, he doesn't seem to be moving at all. Dean can't even hear him shuffling or groaning which he _should_ be because Dean has taken a round of rock salt in the chest before and it hurts like a bitch.

Sam, who had been concentrating on the door at that time, runs over to Dean then follows his gaze to look at the sofa. He's probably wondering why Dean is staring at the sofa. Bobby sprints through at the sound of the shotgun blast. He's coming from the opposite direction so the first thing he can see is the guy who Dean just shot.

By accident.

Bobby's startled for a moment and brings his own shotgun to bear on the guy. Then he frowns and drops the business end down until it's pointing at the floor and turns to look at Dean.

There's a groan from behind the sofa and Sam twitches a little. Yup, Dean was right. Sam thought he'd shot the sofa.

Bobby takes two steps back until he's in the kitchen doorway. His gun is up again but his finger is on the trigger guard instead of the trigger.

In a moment, Dean understands why.

The guy, when he appears, is huge. But he's a kid. Dean thinks he barely looks into his twenties. Then he feels like a dick for shooting a kid in the chest.

But Dean knows appearances can be deceiving. Take those changelings for example. Creepy leachy sons of bitches. Dean shivers every time he remembers them.

The guy groans and curls over. He's got long black hair that's falling around his face and is wearing what looks to be a whole cow hide. Dean owns a leather jacket, so he doesn't think he can judge, but _man_ is that really necessary?

He probably rides a motorcycle. If he doesn't, Dean's going to think he's even more of a douchebag then he already does.

Well, whatever he is he's not a ghost.

The guy straightens and picks at the holes in his shirt.

"Weird. I did not expect that."

Dean's just about to say that he _should_ have expected it when you startle a guy with a gun, but before he can open his mouth something peels off the guys forearm and shoots towards Dean.

Dean lets out a yell and tries to bring his shotgun up in time, but the thing is travelling to fast. He braces for impact and is shocked when it transforms into a chick.

A chick floating in mid-air and _holy shit_ are those wings?

"Whath the _futh_ ith thath?"

Yeah, and what the _fuck is wrong_ with his mouth? Ten minutes ago he didn't have a lisp.

Sam's looking at him weirdly from the corner of his eye. "Dean?"

Dean raises his hand to his mouth and then promptly panics. "Fangth! I've got fangth!"

Dean's so shocked by what's going on that he doesn't even think to protest when the floating girl get into his face.

"You hurt my _akri!_ "

"Wha-?"

She grabs him by his shirt and lifts him off the ground. From here he can see that she has horns growing out of her skull. Actual, honest to god, horns.

Dean can see that Sam and Bobby both have their guns up and ready. Bobby's is trained on the guy and Sam is aiming at the demon thing that's giving him and impromptu flying lesson.

"Put your guns _down_."

It's the guy speaking, and he's got some sort of voice-whammy because Dean really, _really_ wants to put his gun down. It's a testament to their training that none of them do.

The guy seems to realise this as he barks out, "Simi! Return to me!"

The girl, _Simi_ , bares her teeth in Dean's face. "You's is lucky that my Akri is calling for me, otherwise I'd eat you with the yummy barbeque sauce."

With that she drops Dean, who sprawls on the floor, and turns into a _dragon_ before flying back to the guy.

Dean scrambles up. "Whath the futh?" he asks.

"Dean?" Sam asks, seemingly only just realising that Dean now has _fangs_. He raises his gun a little, but doesn't point it at Dean. He looks lost at what's happening. Dean feels his pain; he does, because this shit is messed up. But right now he's trying to deal with his own problems.

Fangs means vampires. Vampires mean drinking blood. It doesn't have to be human, that covern they helped seemed to be able to live pretty well off animal blood. But still – _blood!_

"She'th turned me into a vampire!" Dean's panicking and he thinks he has good right to be "I'll never eath pie again!"

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes, dropping his gun to point at the floor. Even Bobby rolls his eyes. Dean scowls at the both of them. This is a serious problem.

The man sighs. "I'm sorry about that. I think I should introduce myself. I'm Ash. I'm your new boss."

###

The introduction doesn't go over too well. Sam's too tense at seeing Dean get attacked again just after yesterday, even if he does find Dean's new lisp hilarious. Dean gave him a dead arm for the constant giggling. Bobby, on the other hand, is pissed off at how Ash got through all his wards.

Dean's just freaked out about his new fangs.

They're all sitting around the kitchen table. Ash is looking serene on one side and the rest of them are squished on the other. Bobby's put his gun down and has gone for the whiskey. Sam is glaring and has his gun on the table in front of him. He's not got it aimed at Ash but his hand is definitely resting on the butt.

Dean keeps touching his teeth.

"So how's a boy like you get to be leader of this group?" Bobby asks after he's drained his first glass.

Ash raises an eyebrow. Dean can't see his eyes because Ash is wearing sunglasses, even though he's inside and it's freaking night time. "I'm older than you think."

Bobby raises his own eyebrow. Dean's more scared of that one than he is of Ash's. "And how old is old?"

Ash's lips thin, "I was walking the earth with the ancient Egyptians."

Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat and all eyes turn to him. Dean is only slightly creeped out by the expression Sam is wearing. He looks like Christmas and his birthday and the best orgasm of his life have all come around _at the same time._

And he's staring at Ash.

"You were alive at the time of ancient Egypt?"

Ash looks like he regrets admitting that. Especially when Sam edges closer to him with a fawning expression.

Dean thinks maybe he should be a little insulted at how quickly Sam's attitude changed, but Ash's face is hilarious so he's okay with this development.

Dean wants to laugh at the way Ash scoots his chair away. But he doesn't think laughing at his new boss' problems is a good thing. And how weird was it that he's starting to think of this kid as his new boss.

Or, if Ash is telling the truth, not such a kid.

Dean decides to throw Ash a helping hand.

"Er…Tham?"

Sam doesn't even turn to look at him. He's leaning so far over that Dean wonders how he's even staying in his chair.

"Dean," Sam's voice came out strangled, "don't you know what this _means?_ "

Dean wants to make some quip about pyramids and aliens and compensation, but when Sam gets like this he gets pissy when Dean doesn't take things seriously.

Dean does not want to deal with the bitch-face.

Instead he shrugs, even though Sam can't see it, "No?"

"Dean, he was alive with the ancient Egyptians! _He knows how they spoke!_ No one knows how they spoke! All we have are hieroglyphs and the translations!"

Dean clears his throat, not wanting to rain on Sam's happy parade but, "Was he even around the Egyptians?" he asks, "What if he was stuck in Australia or something?"

Sam blinks and frowns, straightening up. "Were you?" he asks Ash.

Ash looks like he really, really wants to lie. "I was around them."

Sam's eyes light up. "And you know how they spoke? You heard them?"

"Yes." It comes out as a sigh and Dean feels for the guy. He really, really does. But he's also glad that Sam isn't looking at _him_ like that so…

At the admission Sam drags his chair until he's so close to Ash he's practically sitting in his lap. The shotgun is abandoned next to Dean.

"Do you think you can teach me? Say something!"

Ash keeps him mouth shut.

Sam pouts, "Please?"

And oh crap it's the puppy eyes. Dean's never been able to resist them.

Ash can't either it seems as he says something that sounds more consonants than vowels.

Sam looks like he wants to hug Ash.

"What does that mean?"

Ash twitches slightly and leans away, "It'll cost two and two thirds."

Dean thinks that it probably means something more along the lines of 'please, god, get out of my face'.

###

It takes ten minutes for Dean to manhandle Sam back to their side of the table and keep him there. Mostly because Sam is acting like a kid who's eaten too much sugar, and is constantly getting up to get books with ancient languages in to see if Ash will translate. That or he's edging his seat around the table like he thinks being closer to Ash will help him absorb the knowledge through osmosis or something.

Ash, for all his creeped out expression, seems to have too many manners to simply punch Sam in the face and run away. He's patiently sitting and answering all of Bobby's questions even though he twitches for every inch Sam closes the gap.

Dean reaches over and grabs Sam's chair, scraping it closer to him.

Sam shoots him a wounded look. Dean ignores him.

"Tho," he says, breaking into this conversation then scowls when he remembers new speech impediment. Sam snickers quietly.

"Can you do thomthing about thith?" He asks Ash, motioning to his mouth.

Ash sighs a little and clicks his fingers. Dean blinks in surprise. He smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Strawberry?" He says, and then, "oh, hey!"

He still has the fangs though.

"So," he says again, "what am I?"

###

Ash has been explaining for the better part of two hours about the history of dark hunters and what they fight and their individual powers.

Dean's still not getting it. "So…if we don't drink blood, what's with the fangs?"

Ash sighs and starts again.

Bobby had given up halfway through the third run-through and, pretty sure that Dean and Sam could handle Ash if he did anything, went back to his books to search for stronger wards. Something that he hasn't already used that will keep pseudo vampires out.

Sam is still with Dean, leaning towards Ash. He's already heard the information and seemingly knows it off by heart because he's asking all sorts of questions. Dean thinks that Sam must really be getting something out of this if he's able to listen to the same stuff over and over again as if it's the first time he's hearing it.

Eventually Ash gives up as well and flicks Dean on the forehead.

"There," he says sounding stressed – though if that's because of Dean's inability to understand a complete rewrite of history or Sam's behaviour – Dean doesn't know, "that's everything you need to know about your powers. You're going to have to practise but-"

He shoots a wary glance at Sam who has been relegated to the other side of the kitchen table. Sam has stars in his eyes at the thought of so much knowledge being _implanted_ into your brain. Or maybe he's still man-crushing on Ash for the whole ancient Egyptian thing.

Sam opens his mouth to say something – Dean thinks it's probably for Ash to touch his forehead too – but Ash hurriedly carries on by dropping a book on the table in front on Dean.

"This is the Dark Hunter companion. It's got a bit about everything and anything in there, including contact details and the history of how everything came about. Maybe you'll understand if you read it."

Dean doesn't think so but Sam is suitably distracted.

Dean mentally congratulates Ash for having figured out his brother so quickly. It took Dean three years to figure out that kid-Sam would leave him alone if Dean gave him a new book.

Dean shoves the book across the table towards Sam. Sam immediately picks it up and starts reading. This is probably a good thing, because no way is Dean ever going to get through it.

He watches in amusement as Ash relaxes.

"Right," Ash says, "now we've just got to figure out your placement."

This causes both Dean and Sam to look at Ash in bewilderment.

"Whoa," Dean holds his hands up, "placement? What placement?"

Ash raises an eyebrow, "Where you'll be working, of course."

Dean shares a look with Sam. "Can't we just do what we normally do?" he asks.

Ash looks at them. "You have to realise how impossible that is." He says eventually, "There are dark hunters all over the world. If you drive around then you'll be entering their territory and, if you get too close to them, you'll both be weakened.

"It's easier if you stay where you're posted and guard the humans there. Not to mention the whole staying out of daylight part."

Dean's flabbergasted. He never signed up for this! Half the fun of being a hunter was the ability to jump in the Impala and drive whichever direction he wanted to. Dean is not a white picket fence and apple pie kind of man.

Well, the pie bit he is, but he's never wanted to settle down. He's tried that and he just feels trapped.

His thoughts must be playing on his face because Ash is looking at him with sympathy. "I know that this isn't something that you want." He says, "But it's something that comes with the job."

Dean scowls. "Fine. Where am I- where are _we_ being sent?"

Ash taps his finger on the table-top for a few moments. "New Orleans."

Dean raises an eyebrow because that's not half as bad as he'd thought.

"Why there?" Sam asks.

"There was…a little trouble a few weeks ago…" Ash says eventually. And by the way he hesitates Dean translates 'a little trouble' into 'holy crap it's the apocalypse'. "We lost a few people and the daimons are pressing in again, thinking to strike when we're down."

Dean scoffs and leans back in his chair. "If that's the case then why are you sending us? I've never even practised using my powers. There's gotta be people with more experience that you can use."

Because, yeah, Dean knows he's good. But he knows his limits and this seems like being thrown into the deep end.

"You've been a hunter for _how long?_ " Ash asks, "You've gone up against things that my other Dark Hunters never have, and that was when you were _human_.

"The same skill set transfers over." He shrugs, "You may not have gone up against _daimons_ but you've gone up against things that are on the same power level, or worse."

Okay. When it's said like that Dean can see how maybe he can do this after all. He shares another look with Sam, who's looking grim but determined, and clears his throat.

"So," he says, "I've always wanted to go to Mardi Gras."

Ash nods, like he expected that answer the whole time. Dean doesn't know whether to be irritated or not.

Instead he turns to Sam who's wearing patented bitch-face number seven – the one where he doesn't know whether to be pleased or irritated. "So, New Orleans" Dean says.

"Well…we've never been…" Sam concedes.

There's a silence. The sort of silence that comes before someone says 'ah, well, you see…'

"Ah, well, you see…"

Damn it, Dean just jinxed himself. He turns to face Ash who's looking awkward.

"What?"

"That's another thing. Dark Hunters can have no family."

Dean stares at him and then turns to look at Sam. In the background he can hear that even Bobby has stopped turning pages and is coming over to stand in the doorway.

"What do ya mean?" Dean asks, "My family is right here."

Ash clears his throat. "Yes, but, they can't actually stay with you. You can never see them again."

Dean's face blanks. So does Bobby's. Sam actually looks like his favourite toy came to life, tried to kill him and then blew itself up and all he's left with is a flaming pile of goo.

"No." Dean says.

"It's the rules. You don't have a-" Ash starts.

"No." Dean interrupts him, ignoring all the ways _that_ was a bad idea. "I don't think you understand. I sold my soul for my brother. I'd do anything for him. My family watched and stood with me as I walked to my death. There is _no way_ I am going to let you take these people away from me, without a fight, because it's one of your rules.

"No."

Ash seems taken aback. He leans back in his chair and looks over the three of them. Bobby has come over some time during Dean's speech and is standing behind his chair, one hand on Dean's shoulder. Sam has, for the first time in this conversation, edged closer to Dean and is clutching at his shirt – like he thinks Ash is going to rip Dean away from him right now.

"I'm sorry." Ash says, "But-"

"Please," Sam interrupts, because he's a Winchester and apparently that's what they do. "I've lived the last year thinking that I'd never see him again. I watched him die knowing that the only reason he was doing so was because of me.

"Then he wasn't dead and he's here and he's my _brother_. Please don't take him away now that I just got him back."

Ash rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"Fine," he says eventually, "there is the possibility of giving you a squire."

Dean's confused but Ash must have explained it sometime because Sam's eyes light up.

"What?" Dean asks.

Dean can't see it thanks to the sunglasses, but he's absolutely positive Ash just rolled his eyes at him.

"A squire," Ash says slowly, "Is a human who does whatever is needed for a dark hunter during the daytime. They can live together or separately, but a squire and a dark hunter are, basically, a team. But it's the squire's job to obey the dark hunter and carry out their requests. They're there to keep the dark hunter alive."

Dean thinks about this. "So…it's a bit like having a slave?"

Ash face-palms. Dean chalks that up to a win.

He grins and twists around to look at Bobby. "So, Bobby, fancy being my squire?"

Bobby glares at him. "Boy, if you think I'm gonna clean up more of your crap than I already do, then you've got your head on backwards." He adds to this with a slap to the backside of Dean's head. Maybe hoping to smack some sense into Dean or something, but he's got a gruffly fond look on his face so it's not all bad.

Dean turns around to find Sam wearing hurt-puppy-look number three. Fuck.

"Aw, come on Sam, you know I was kidding."

The look dissolves into hurt-puppy-look number four, with added bitch-face.

Dean sighs and punches him in the arm. "You're the only one I'd pick."

Sam punches him back.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

And all is right with the world.


	3. December 3rd

New Orleans is different than Dean expected.

Dean has had hunts in cities before. But mostly he and Sam have picked up supernatural hints in smaller places - towns and backwater villages that are usually just a few houses clustered around a bar or a church or some other place of worship.

It's not that Dean ignores the hunts that occur in the clustered hearts of metropolis, it's just that both he and Sam find it difficult to differentiate between the supernatural and general human sadism.

Besides, more people means a more rigorous and up-to-date police force, which means more chance that someone will recognise Dean's picture. Even if he _is_ supposed to be dead.

Also, there's a certain type of self-gratification into rolling into town to save the day.

Dean likes to compare himself to a modern day cowboy.

In his head.

Because no way is he ever admitting that to Sam.

There's also a lot more freedom. When he's there, he doesn't have to be Dean Winchester; Hunter. He can be anyone or anything. There's nothing to prove that he isn't a funeral director, or a priest, or an FBI agent. And if there _is_ then he's not going to be around long enough for the people he's helping to figure it out.

At every stop he can make himself anew. Turn himself into the person that's needed to get the job done.

There's also no one to remember after he leaves. The places he hunts and the people who he saves are all small town people. For the most part they don't leave their home. There's barely any worry that he'll ever meet up with them again. There's hardly any chance of someone arriving and calling him by a different name or asking about a different profession.

Sam feels it too, Dean is sure. Feels the ruthlessness involved in this life – the get in, get the job done, get out – motto that every hunter has.

Which is why living in a city and owning an apartment is really, really weird.

And, yeah, okay.

The apartment's _huge_ , because apparently dark hunters can't survive in motel rooms or the like, and by huge he mean's it takes up the whole damn third floor of the building. Sam practically has his own apartment in the apartment.

It's all very spacious and open and Dean's unsure whether he hates it or just really dislikes it.

He's spent his entire life living in either in a room shared between two to three people, or the Impala, or Bobby's house with its clutter and towering stacks of books.

And while it was a little cramped he wouldn't have had it any other way. Except for when Sam hit puberty because one bathroom and only one tank of hot water was never going to be enough.

And even on hunts he's been down mineshafts and crawlspaces and underneath floorboards. Been trapped in cages, locked in cupboards and confined in bathrooms.

He's never, ever been comfortable in open plan. There's always the feeling that something is going to be able to sneak up behind him and shank him in the kidney. He needs the solid presence of a wall close to his back to feel remotely at ease.

This is why, when they finally finish exploring the apartment Ash brings them to, Dean shares a glance with Sam and both shift uncomfortably.

They don't even need to speak about it, but hours later and one of the bigger bedrooms now has two double beds in it and the floor is littered with their bags and whatever books Bobby thought they should bring with them on their 'new adventure'.

That was three weeks ago.

Things haven't changed much. Dean is still sharing a room with Sam because it's more comfortable.

That, and the one night they tried separating, both Dean and Sam had nightmares and ended up drinking together in the bare kitchen anyway.

Their room is looking a lot more lived in. Despite having the whole apartment, they both reverted back to using their bedroom as a hub for research and information gathering. Sam has piles of books littered across the floor, and not all of them are Bobby's anymore.

Apparently New Orleans is a hub for occult books and shops.

Who knew?

Dean goes to sleep one morning in a bare room and wakes up to find Sam buried under about three hundred books.

Dean would have been shocked, but this is so like Sam that he just rolls over and goes back to sleep for a few more hours.

Sam also stole Ash's number from Dean's phone and has been calling up Ash to fact-check with him on something or other to do with god knows what.

Dean isn't entirely sure what Sam's doing or talking about with Ash during these phone calls, as he prefers to ignore all Sam's hero worshiping for his own sanity. There's only so much man-crush he can take in one day and Sam uses that up within five minutes.

At least he has the Impala to tinker with and tune up.

It's during one of these calls that Sam learns about why they're not hunting right now.

Sam's sitting cross-legged on his bed, a book open in his lap. He's been reading and making notes on a pad of paper beside him on whatever the book is about and has just finished making a call to Ash.

Dean thinks that Ash has the patience of a saint to put up with his brothers calls. Especially if Ash is a dark hunter too and Sam has been calling him during the day.

Sam has only ever once made the mistake of waking Dean up during the day.

Never again.

Sam hangs up and is silent. There isn't even the rustling of paper or the scratching of pen. Dean glances up from where he's cleaning his knives and sorting out the memories and information Ash shoved in his head.

And yeah, he's still not sure how he's supposed to feel about that. Because on one hand, it's kind of nice knowing about things. On the other hand it's not making a lot of sense before he works out what goes where.

There's also the whole ease that Ash messed with his mind that has his hunter side wanting to pick up the shotgun and blast something into tiny pieces.

Sam's staring off into the middle distance. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

Sam turns his attention to Dean and stares at him instead, frowning. "Ash mentioned that new dark hunters get training."

Dean shrugs, "So?"

With all the stuff that got shoved in his head, Dean can think why some people might want to learn it the long way.

"For a _year_ , Dean."

Dean blinks. "We're not stopping hunts for a year." He says eventually, once he's worked through the disbelief and irritation. Because, yeah. He sold his soul and has to do this, and he's got a firm amount of respect for the scary lady who killed Lilith, but he's still _Dean Winchester_.

He can handle moving to a place and staying there to protect innocent people from getting hurt. But he's not going to put off helping people for training when he's been hunting things like these daimons his entire life.

Sam hums and taps his phone against his knee. "Ash did say that they were having trouble…"

Dean frowns as something niggles at him. He catches Sam's eye and asks, "If I'm meant to be in training for a year then why did he move us straight here?"

"I think it's because we're already hunters." Sam says slowly, like he's working out a hard problem and isn't sure that he can find the correct answer.

Dean stays quiet because, while Sam can work anywhere, he can get things done faster if there aren't any distractions.

"We've already gone up against things that have supernatural strength and powers. So we don't have to go through the learning process of what everything is? Maybe we're just expected to practise and get on with it?" Sam adds, and then grimaces because that sounded weak, even to him.

Dean scoffs and leans back against his pillows, abandoning his knives and picking up the remote. He'd kept the TV off when Sam was talking to Ash because it looked important, like it was going to be instructions on where and when they were going to be deployed.

Dean's getting only the slightest bit antsy about being in one place for too long.

"Ash also said that he's pretty sure that the daimons are mounting an attack sometime soon." Sam says, capturing Dean's attention again.

"Does he know when?" Dean asks, because this sounds more like what he expected three weeks ago. None of this sitting around and waiting stuff.

Sam shrugs "If he does then he didn't say. "

"So what does he expect us to do?" Dean asks, "If he's brought us down here to help but won't tell us anything about what we're fighting or their habits or what my powers are – which" he adds, "I don't think I have." Because he's never had anything weird or out of the ordinary happed around him _because_ of him. That's more Sam's forte than his.

Sam shrugs, "What do we normally do on a hunt?"

Dean sighs, because this is so beyond a normal hunt that it's not even funny anymore. "Research and then stop the bad guys." He switches on the TV and starts to flick through the channels.

Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance and pulls out the dark hunter companion from under his pillow - and Dean is not thinking about how weird that is at all - and flicks through to the history of daimons again.

"Right, so I'll get on that, shall I?"

Dean smirks because, really, Sam's just walked into that one, "That's what squires are for."

There's an annoyed silence from the other bed. Dean purposefully doesn't turn around.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

###

The next evening Dean's still tired. It's harder than it seems switching sleep patterns.

Dean is used to getting up and going whether it was night or day. He's used to driving for long distances and having to stay awake then only getting a few hours' sleep.

He is _not_ used to being able to sleep for twelve hours, just as he's not used to not being able to see the sun anymore.

He didn't realise that he'd miss sunlight so much. But when Sam had brought home a lamp that mimicked the sun, Dean's skin had actually _caught on fire_.

It had hurt like a bitch too. Even if it had healed up in a few hours.

So, no more sunlight for Dean.

And he really likes his tan too.

If he has to spend the rest of eternity looking like a pasty reject from the Twilight films then he's going to take a shotgun to someone's ass. Because no way is he standing for _that_. And he can't believe he just used Twilight as a reference.

That's it. Sam's getting eggs in his shampoo tomorrow. This is obviously all his fault.

Sam's doing a bit better. He's sleeping the morning, and then spending his afternoons out exploring the city.

Dean is only a little jealous at Sam's ability to do this.

Then they spend the nights working together, trying to figure out what daimons are from the companion guide and Dean's slowly revealing memories.

After the first week, Sam had also started to bring back newspapers to trawl through to see if they can pick up any hints of the supernatural. It doesn't have to be daimons, just anything else that may be hiding in the city and picking off innocents.

So far they haven't spotted anything, which is a bit weird but not overly concerning.

God, Dean hates this exhaustion.

He's getting too old for this shit.

Sam is looking perky sitting at the kitchen table, sipping some sort of weird fruity drink as he flicks through todays paper. A red pen is lying beside his elbow, the cap still on.

Obviously nothing has been happening in New Orleans lately. Not even what they know of daimons.

It makes Dean on edge. Ash is right. This is definitely the calm before the storm.

Dean plops himself down in the chair next to Sam.

Fuck it. He can't think like this without coffee.

He mentally tries to tell Sam to get to his squire-ly duties and get him a real drink. If Sam heard him or not is debateable but he does hum a little and turn the page.

Dean groans.

Sam ignores him.

Dean tries to look pitiful.

Apparently it doesn't work if the other person isn't paying attention.

There's a liturgy of _coffee-coffee-coffee_ going through Dean's mind when something hot taps him on the side of the head. He turns to see a mug floating in mid-air, the delicious smell of coffee wafting to him from it.

Dean lets out a yell – it is totally not a girly scream at _all_ , thank you very much – and jumps away from it, falling heavily on the floor. He startles Sam who flinches just as he was about to take a drink and ends up spilling smoothie all down himself and the newspaper.

"Damn it, Dean!"

Dean ignores his protests and scrambles up and to the other side of the table where Sam is now standing and brushing ineffectually at himself. His white shirt now has a huge pink stain on it. It looks like a My Little Pony threw up on him.

Dean hates that he knows what My Little Ponies are.

Damn six year old Sam.

"Sam!" He yells, glad that his voice seems to be hitting the right register now.

Sam turns to him with bitch-face number two.

"What, Dean? What?"

Dean points to the other side of the table where the coffee mug is still floating serenely.

It smells really good.

If Dean wasn't unsure about it being possessed by ghosts then he would be happily drinking that right now.

Sam's gaze follows to where Dean is pointing and he stops trying to wipe himself off.

"Huh." He says, head tilting to one side quizzically.

Dean wants to smack the backside of his head. Instead he just goes with "Huh? Is that it? I thought you weren't going to be doing any more of that freaky mind shit around me!"

Dean regrets saying it immediately when Sam shoots him a hurt look and seems to curl in on himself.

"Without warning me first, I mean." Dean tries to correct his mistake, "You know if other hunters found out about this they might not think twice about-"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam cuts him off, and Dean can still hear the hurt in his voice. Damn it! This is why he needs coffee in the morning! It severely limits the amount of times he puts his foot in his mouth. Sam would argue, he knows, but it's true.

"Crap, Sam." Dean says, gripping Sam's arm when Sam goes to turn away. "You know that's not how I meant it."

Sam shoots him a small smile, but Dean can still see the hurt.

Okay, Dean's not going to put eggs in Sam's shampoo then. And he'll buy him an old book or something.

Sam twists out of Dean's grip and goes over to study the floating mug. Dean protests but he's ignored.

"Hmmm…" Sam hums and then waves his hands around the mug, covering all sides, above and below.

"Hmmm…" Sam says again.

"What?" Dean asks. And if he sounds nervous it's only because he doesn't have his shotgun.

"It's not me." Sam says.

"What?"

Okay. This time Dean's incredulous.

"But you're the only one with the fre-" Sam flinches a little and Dean bites his tongue, "er…mind powers…" he finishes lamely, mentally slapping himself.

Sam seems to appreciate it though as he straightens.

"It's not me," He repeats.

"Then who is it?"

Sam _looks_ at Dean and it takes Dean a few moments to catch on.

"Me?" He squeaks out, "You think that-" he gestures at the mug, "is me?"

Sam shrugs and smirks. "What were you thinking about before you screamed like a girl?"

Dean scowls. For a guy who is now wearing a pink shirt, Sam has no stones to cast judgement with. "I was thinking about wanting coffee."

The mug twitches slightly. Both Sam and Dean's eyes are drawn to it.

"Do that again." Sam orders.

"Coffee." Dean says and the mug moves towards him another inch.

"Hmmm…try _thinking_ the word." Sam says. Like this is the most fascinating thing that's ever happened to him.

 _Coffee_ , Dean thinks, _coooooffeeeeee_.

And _holy shit_ the mug is floating towards him. Dean backs away and the mug follows.

Shit, what the hell? Except now he can't stop thinking about the damn coffee mug and it's still coming towards him.

Dean backs further away, unwilling to take his eyes off the mug, but it doesn't seem to help. He tries changing direction to bamboozle it.

Apparently the coffee mug is smarter than he thought as it just floats serenely after him.

"Sam!"

Okay, so sue him. It came out panicked but his brain has turned into a magnet for coffee mugs. Dean thinks this is a perfect time to panic.

He glances at Sam, hoping to see Sam with some sort of sledgehammer or bat ready to help him out. Instead he sees Sam, grinning madly, with his phone out recording Dean getting chased around the room by kitchenware.

That's it. Sam's going down. The prank war starts tomorrow.

"Sam!" Dean hisses and then yelps as he backs into the chair he vacated at the beginning of this whole thing. He sits down with a thump and an "oouf" and can only watch in trepidation as the mug floats closer to his head with every passing second.

He closes his eyes.

When he isn't scalded by hot coffee he opens them again. The mug is still floating in mid-air, but it looks like it's waiting for something.

"Aww," Sam says, "I think it likes you."

Dean scowls, "Shut up, Sammy."

"Maybe it wants you to take it home?"

"Shut _up_ , Sammy!" Dean licks his lips, "What do I do?" He asks.

Sam shrugs, "I don't know? Take it? Drink the coffee? You did ask for it."

Dean hesitates, but its good advice. Plus he can't go the rest of his life being followed around by the mug – that would just be weird. He reaches up and takes the mug.

Nothing happens.

Glancing cautiously at Sam – who just shrugs at him – he carefully takes a sip, and promptly groans.

It is really, _really_ , good coffee.

He finishes off the mug and by the times he's come out of his caffeine induced coma, Sam is sitting on the other side of the table with the companion guide in front of him.

"What?" Dean asks, because seriously, when did Sam go to the bedroom and get that without him noticing.

"I can't decide," Sam says, ignoring Dean's confusion like normal, "whether that was telekinesis, or gravitakinesis."

"Gravy who what now?"

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "Gravitakinesis," he says again, motioning to the book. It's the ability to manipulate the force of gravity.

Dean scowls and reaches across the table for _his_ companion guide. "Give me that," he says.

When he gets it he does a double take. Sam's been scribbling notes through the book. Dean does a quick flick through. Yeah, they go all the way through.

It looks like a bastardised version of dad's journal.

Except Sam's used pink, green and orange highlighters to mark different parts and there's an overabundance of exclamation points.

Seriously, it's giving Dean a headache just looking at it. So, instead, he stares blankly at Sam who shifts uncomfortably.

"It's to help me memorise the stuff."

Dean continues to stare; only now he narrows his eyes.

Sam swallows.

"Um…sorry?"


	4. December 4th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small cameo from Advent '10 :P

Dean's practising with his new powers.

They worked it out. Eventually. After Sam had run any and every test he could think of to differentiate between the two choices.

Apparently he has telekinesis. Like Sam.

He wonders if it's a Winchester trait: When infected by something supernatural, every Winchester will develop mind powers and the ability to move stuff.

As only he and Sam are left, he doesn't know if he'll ever get to test that theory.

So far, Dean has only ever experienced floating coffee spontaneously. He had to think long and hard to try and pull the information Ash gave him to work out how to use his power. Because, if it was just a matter of thinking about it, all sorts of weird and vaguely embarrassing things would likely turn up around him.

Dean's pretty glad that he can't just magic things into existence.

Yet.

Although that could be entirely possible in the future, because he's read through his colourised guide and most of the other dark hunters in the directory have two, or sometimes even three, powers to them.

Dean hopes that this isn't the case with him. He's still trying to wrap his head around spontaneous telekinesis. Though, to be fair, Sam probably took it better than he did when Sam developed his powers.

For example, Dean knew there was a possibility that he was going to get some sort of supernatural boost. In his world, you don't just sell your soul without expecting _some_ sort of power boost. Even if you don't want it. Sam, however, had no warning about what was going to happen and yet he still convinced Dean and they rode off to save lives.

Sam did not scream and deny everything in disbelief.

Though, to be fair, Sam's head wasn't assaulted by a floating coffee mug.

Dean also flicked through the list of powers that dark hunters are bestowed with. Apparently the info-dump Ash shoved in his head reacts better with some sort of visual prompting as he managed to pull up all sorts of information. Ash downloaded the instructions for a whole bunch of different powers that Dean's pretty sure he doesn't have. For example, he's never set anything on fire.

Without a flamethrower.

Or a can of aerosol and a lighter.

Or, you know, a flare. But that Wendigo totally deserved it and Dean insists that it was a work of creative genius.

But then again, it's not out of the realm of possibility and Dean's guarded about what he might do by accident.

Case in point. While it was amusing – to Sam – that the telekinesis only helped him with his morning cup of Joe, he doesn't want to step into the shower and try to turn the water cooler and accidentally end up freezing the place in ice.

That can happen. He's got the memories of it.

Or he doesn't want to accidentally animate his bed. Imagine his bed talking to him!

Or even worse – the _toilet_.

Dean shivers just thinking about it.

Besides, the telekinesis is enough for him. He's been practising as well.

After Dean learnt that Sam had made hidden back-up copies of the back-up copies of the coffee mug incident, Dean took to moving Sam's stuff around when he wasn't paying attention. It's all practise anyway, right?

Besides, Dean argues, a hunter should always be prepared and aware of the environment around him. If that includes Dean switching the salt and sugar around then so be it.

Sam does not find this amusing.

Dean suspects that the video is now on the internet.

Sam had also begun to get pissy about not knowing how to control his telekinesis as well as Dean, so Dean is teaching Sam to control his powers. It's easy now that he knows the steps that are needed to refine the thing.

For example, he now knows that the way Sam had been going about it was like taking a sledgehammer to a piece of glass, or a Winchester in a mirror shop. He also knows how to block unwanted visions too, which caused Sam to spontaneously hug him in a chick-flick moment of epic proportions.

Dean had to hide in the Impala for two hours once that was over.

And by hide he means fix.

The upside is is that Sam is happier now, and there are a lot less nightmares to deal with, which Dean is grateful for, really.

The downside is whenever Dean decides to practise by moving Sam's books around, Sam can now retaliate.

This is making the prank war more interesting, but very frustrating. Dean thinks he should win by default because Sam's his squire. Sam called him a clotpole.

Dean doesn't know what that means, or where Sam got it from, but he knows it was worth the dye in Sam's toothpaste.

Dean has wondered why Ash hasn't come along to train him. He got the impression that this was the normal thing for new dark hunters.

But then he remembers Sam and Sam's man-crush and Ash's reluctance to appear in their rooms suddenly makes a lot more sense. Dean would laugh, but it's led to the whole floating coffee mug thing and that shit just isn't cool.

Also, there's also the worry that Sam's stalking is going to get _him_ in trouble.

He doesn't really care though, Sam's been a lot happier now that he's learning the secrets of the ancient world or something nerdy like that. And Ash is still picking up his calls, so he mustn't be that annoyed.

Right?

Unless he's saving up his annoyance for one big payback.

Nah.

Eventually, though, everything comes to a head.

Dean's been pretty much trapped in the apartment for a month now. The first few weeks were to get used to the whole dark hunter thing and waiting for his powers and then getting control over his powers.

When he _does_ leave the apartment, it's mostly to go and take care of the Impala that is sitting in the parking garage of the building where they're living.

He's only ever gone further out a few times, but only to the local shops to pick up pranking materials. Sam has, strangely, been very overprotective of him lately and has been acting like a squire. Or a slave.

It's really starting to annoy Dean.

Dean breaks the third time Sam tries to foist pie onto him.

Dean likes pie, don't get him wrong, but three slices in an hour and it's taking the fun out of it. Dean is starting to become sick of pie and he _never_ wants to get sick of pie.

"That's it." Dean says, slamming his fork on the table. "No more pie."

Sam immediately starts to chant an exorcism under his breath and Dean has to slap him.

Sam rubs his arm looking wounded. "What?" he asks.

"No more pie." Dean repeats. "No more of…" he makes a gesture that encompasses Sam and the rest of the kitchen, "…this." He finishes lamely. "I can't take it anymore Sam. I need to get out."

Sam looks towards the windows that have thick metal shutters on them. Apparently they're state of the art hurricane shutters of some kind. Dean thinks that their neighbours secretly think they're freaks. Or extremely paranoid about the weather. Or gay.

He doesn't know what that last one has to do with it but he's pretty sure he knows it's true. There's a little old lady that lives on the floor below them that keeps winking at Dean whenever she sees him and Sam together.

He wants to point out that they're brothers but the first and only time he tried to correct her she giggled and told him that it was okay because all the apartments here are completely soundproof and that she can't even hear them walking around, so they can be as loud as they want.

Dean was so unbelievably creeped out that he had left to bury himself in the Impala without correcting her mistaken belief.

He's dreading the day he wakes up to find gay skin mags or condoms or lube in their post box.

He's also dreading trying to explain it all to Sam.

Sam turns back to Dean. "I don't-"

"Sam," Dean says, trying to keep irritation out of his voice. He succeeds but he still sounds exasperated, "It's only just turned dark. We've got a few hours left before I flambé."

The joke doesn't go down well and, okay, maybe the whole catching alight thing really spooked Sam more than Dean has thought. Dean hesitates as he pulls on his jacket.

"Sammy," he says, slower this time. "Nothing's going to happen. We're just going to go out, find a bar, get some beer and play a little pool if they have any. Okay?"

"Yeah, Dean." Sam says, but he's still looking a little worried.

Dean holds back a sigh. Then brightens as he remembers something he read in the companion guide – practically the only section he read all the way through and can actually remember anyway. "Hey, isn't there some bars mentioned in the book Ash gave you."

Because, really, there's no way Dean's ever going to claim the handbook now.

Sam brightens too, and Dean can practically see the wheels turning in his head. "Yeah," he says, "that'll be great. It's a sanctuary so there's no way you'll be attacked."

Sam turns to the bedroom and gets his own coat and wallet and, for some reason, his laptop.

Dean rolls his eyes. He shouldn't be surprised, he really shouldn't. And he should probably have words with Sam about this sudden fear that Dean is going to get attacked and die. The Lady – Artemis – had told him that he was now immortal and, yeah, okay, he doesn't have any _proof_ of that apart from the rapid healing, but he's pretty sure his definition of immortal and a goddess' definition of immortal were the same thing.

Maybe Sam's read something in the handbook guide that given a loophole to the whole immortality deal? Like Achilles and his heel.

And yeah, Dean only knows that because of the movie Troy. But he figured he needed to brush up on his Greek knowledge what with apparently selling his soul to Artemis.

If there is he should probably read the book to know. Or get Sam to paraphrase it for him because _God_ , whoever wrote it made the thing dull. He's falling asleep just thinking about it.

"Lead on." He says, motioning for Sam to take the lead because Dean has absolutely no clue where they're going.

###

Dean can feel the music pounding from two streets away. He speeds up a little, ignoring Sam's grin. There's also a weird energy signature coming from the building, like a crackling static that's hard to ignore.

It's not until he gets to the front door that he realises that the static is coming from _people_.

The bouncer is blond and huge. Sam huge. Dean has to tilt his head until his neck cracks to look him in the eye.

He is not amused.

First Sam, then Ash and now this guy. Is he going to be forever surrounded by rejects from the land of giants?

The bouncer glances at them both, and then his eyes zero in on Dean's bow and arrow mark proudly standing out above his collar. Proudly only because Dean hasn't been able to find anything to cover it and he is not ever going to wear a turtleneck sweater unless he actually gets dragged down into hell.

The guy bares his teeth and Dean's hand twitches for his gun. This guy isn't human, and yeah, while that wouldn't be a deciding factor, he's also radiating anger and irritation. Dean would feel a lot better if he had some sort of weapon in his hand because no way is he going to test his new immortality against this guy.

Blondie puts his hand out to bar Dean's entry and that's when Dean notices the bow and arrow mark on blondies arm. Blondie lets out a small growl and Dean can't see, but he can _feel_ Sam stiffen behind him.

"You new here, dark hunter?" he asks, and Dean is only slightly taken aback by the fact that the guy will just come out and say it.

"Yeah," Dean says. And, okay, maybe he could be less confrontational but come _on_. Dean hates these types of assholes. The ones that think they can push people around because they're bigger or stronger or know they're more powerful.

It pisses him off even more when it's something supernatural doing it to a human. Especially if said supernatural creature is doing it to his brother and if blondie doesn't stop looking at Sammy like that Dean's gonna teach him how he single handedly took out a nest of vamps in Washington without breaking a sweat.

Dean shifts in front of Sam. It doesn't hide him but it does draw the bouncer's attention to him again.

"You gonna let us in anytime, blondie?"

The bouncer grits his teeth.

"Some rules first." He says, "No magic. No weapons. No fighting. No blood spilt. You follow those rules and we'll have no problems."

Dean smiles winningly. It's the smile he gives all assholes when they've pissed him off and he's trying not to punch someone in the face.

Doesn't happen that often. Usually he just punches them in the face.

"All I want is some beer, some meat and maybe to play a little pool. If you've got one out of three then I think we'll be fine."

Who said Dean had no social skills.

Blondie looks really reluctant, but because Dean hasn't actually _done_ anything and there's another group that's come up behind them and is waiting to enter too, he drops his arm and allows Dean and Sam through the door.

The place is loud, hot and filled with a crush of bodies.

Dean loves it.

He scans the place for a free table and sees one over in the far corner. Sam sees it too and heads over to it to set up his laptop while Dean goes and orders drinks.

When Dean gets back Sam is already set up and hacked in to some wireless or other and searching the internet for whatever he needs to search for.

As they don't have a hunt right now, Dean suspects that it's something to do with some ancient temple in a dead society that he wants to talk to Ash about.

Dean should probably see about rationing his phone time. Ash might actually come and visit then.

Or maybe not.

Dean plonks Sam's drink next to him and takes a sip of his own, studying the people.

There's a strange mix. This place seems to be predominantly a biker bar with loads of guys and chicks in leather listening to the music, playing pool, eating and drinking. Then there's the slightly tamer crowd – the ones that are dressed conservatively, compared to the bikers. Dean guesses they're from the local universities – here slumming it for an evening.

There's two people who stick out. They're surrounded by a bunch of people but are at the centre of their group's attention. One of them, a guy with green hair, is talking animatedly to someone across the table. There's another guy who's wearing a _wetsuit_ with his arm thrown around greenies shoulders.

Dean jerks a little when wetsuit guy turns to stare at him and Dean knows he shouldn't be able to tell from this distance but the guys eyes are _purple_.

Some instinct in Dean has him freezing and he doesn't even blink until greenie distracts purple-eyes with a well-timed question. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when purple-eyes turns his attention back to his partner.

Dean doesn't even care that purple-eyes is now wearing a smirk. Probably at Dean's expense. He's just glad he's not the focus of that guy's attention anymore.

Mental note. Do not piss off purple-eyes.

Or greenie either, going by the way purple-eyes has a casually possessive grip on him.

Dean turns back to Sam to find him still absorbed completely in his researching.

"I'm going to play pool." He says, even though he knows Sam probably isn't listening.

Sam grunts at him and Dean rolls his eyes, grabbing his drink and heading over to the group of bikers to see if he can hustle up any money.

Hey, old habits die hard.

###

Sam is totally and completely caught up in researching all he can on Aztecs – specifically the weird breed of Wendigo that's been mentioned in a few places here and there – to ask Ash about, that he doesn't notice that someone has slid into the seat opposite him until they clear their throat.

He thinks its Dean for a moment until his brain catches up with him and informs him that Dean has never had that high a pitched voice. Well, if you discount the mug incident.

His glance up confirms that it's not Dean but a very pretty brunette with a _very_ tight t-shirt on.

"Uh." He says, completely unprepared.

The girl smiles at him and leans forward. Sam's eyes resolutely stay on her face because, unlike Dean, Sam is a gentleman.

The girl seems a little put out at first that her tactic didn't work but then smiles again, this time a little more openly and it makes her seem all the more pretty.

"Hey there." She says.

"Hi." Sam replies, tilting the screen down a little so there's even less of a chance that she'll see what he's been researching.

"I'm Sandy," she says.

"Sam."

Sandy flutters her eyes at him and trails her fingers across the back of Sam's laptop, "you a college student?" she asks, "Don't you want to listen to the music?"

Sam blinks and it's only then that he notices that there's a live band playing on a stage at the far side of the room. "Uh…"

Sandy lets out a delighted laugh "Wow," she sounds impressed, "that must be one hell of a paper."

"It is," Sam agrees and then flushes, "but I'm not a student."

Sandy looks more interested, "A professor?"

Sam grimaces, he doesn't want to lie because, now that she's not trying to shove her breasts into his face, she actually seems interested in his answer. But he has no answer.

"Not quite…" he trails off.

"A researcher then?" she tilts her head to the side and Sam smiles.

"Yeah."

"Cool. Hey, I was wondering, do you want to dance before they bring out the bear?"

Sam has no idea what she means but he can't just leave his laptop unattended and Dean is nowhere in sight.

"Uh, sorry, I'm kinda…caught up with this stuff…" It's weak and he knows it.

Sandy looks genuinely upset but she smiles a little ruefully and stands, "I understand," she says and Sam watches with a little regret as she heads off to the dance floor where a tall blond guy charms his way into dancing with her with ease.

He's such a dork.

He has no idea why his inner voice sounded like Dean just there.

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes at himself. He takes a drink of the beer that Dean left him. It's warm now but Sam doesn't care and gets back to his research.

###

Dean's having a good night. He's managed to win forty dollars playing pool and is quite happy with how the night's turned out. He's glad that he managed to convince Sam to come out, he really would have gone stir crazy.

He's also pretty sure that half the people in here and most of the staff are supernatural. There's a weird buzzing energy around them that sets Dean's teeth on edge if he gets too close.

He glances over to see Sam still researching and only having drunk half his glass. Dean would roll his eyes but he's pretty immune to this sort of thing from Sam. So instead, he heads over to the bar to get himself another drink.

The bartender is pretty and blonde and taller than him.

Again.

This time Dean really does sigh.

She glances over at him and her eyes catch on his bow and arrow mark, much in the same way as the bouncer. She smirks. "What d'ya want?"

Dean smiles and leans on the counter, "How about your number?"

Before she can answer a big, meaty paw comes crashing down on his shoulder. The sense of electricity pulses through Dean. It's a lot worse than just his teeth being set on edge, now it feels like every drop of blood has been electrified.

It's not a comfortable feeling.

Dean glances up to see the bouncer behind him.

But wait, no, this one doesn't have the tattoo on his arm and is wearing something completely different. Twins?

Dean thinks some girl is probably going to be very happy.

Blondies twin smiles at him, and there are way too many sharp teeth for that to be comforting.

"This guy bothering you, sis?"

Ah.

Dean just hit on the sister of a couple of very tall, very predatory and very supernatural guys.

She's probably the baby sister or the only girl in the family too.

Crap.


	5. December 5th

"Hey man," Dean holds his hands up and tries to dodge from under the guys grip. It doesn't work. "No harm."

The guy tightens his grip and Dean wants to whimper. He doesn't, because that's just not him and he has a reputation to uphold, even if these people don't know it.

"Of course not." The guy smiles and Dean tries to mentally contact Sam.

He has no idea if it works or not.

"Cherif." The woman says.

"Aimee." Cherif repeats politely.

"Right, I'm just gonna go now." Dean cuts in, "If you could just-"

"Now why would we want that?" Cherif says, dragging him across the floor, away from the bar to the dancing area. "You're a paying customer dark hunter."

"Crap." Dean says, because it's all he really can say.

Dean thinks that maybe he should protest the way the guy is manhandling him but the energy the guy's giving off is disorientating. Dean wonders if it's part of his new powers or something because he's never reacted to any supernatural creature like this before.

It's when they get to the free space in front of the stage that Dean realises that the band has cleared off and the place is completely free of people. There's some wire caging that's been jury-rigged to form a huge circle.

"What?" Dean asks because…well…what?

Cherif snatches the forty dollars Dean hustled from some bikers from his hand and pushes him into the cage, locking the door behind Dean. "Third Saturday of every month is 'Wrestle the Bear' night. Forty dollars to enter." He grins nastily and waves the money he's just stolen from Dean.

Dean scans the cage warily, but it's still free from any and all bears. He turns back to Cherif.

"You're kidding right?"

"Nope."

"Come on! This has gotta be breaking all sorts of health and safety codes." Dean protests and _please god_ where the fuck is Sam? Dean doesn't want to wrestle a _bear_. What the fuck is _wrong_ with these people!

Okay, yeah. Dean's a hunter and he's gone after some crazy assed shit in his time, but he does that because innocent lives are at stake. He doesn't do it for fun! Well, not all the time. He does enjoy it at the end of the day, but seriously? He's not going to put his life in danger for no reason!

"You'll get a t-shirt for entering and if you win you get to eat for free." Cherif continues, steamrolling over any and all protests Dean's just made. "No one has ever eaten for free, but hey, you might be the first."

Dean scowls and glances behind him. Still no bear which is a relief. He turns back to Cherif.

"I'm going to hurt you." He promises, his face blank.

Cherif raises an eyebrow, "Oh really, little dark hunter?"

Dean bristles and smiles coldly, "I've only been a dark hunter for one month."

Cherif's smile falters and he looks a little worried. Dean ignores him.

"You wanna know what I was before that?" Dean grins, even as he hears the door to one of the back rooms open and something huge steps through, "A _hunter_." He stresses the word.

Dean doesn't know if these supernatural bozos know about hunters, about the types of things they go up against every day for their entire lives. But even if he doesn't know about _hunter_ hunters, the insinuation is still there.

Cherif is looking a lot more worried now.

Dean feels the thrill of putting someone in their place. But he can't concentrate on that because he's turned around and there's a huge fucking _bear_ behind him.

"Crap."

It's blond –that's weird enough – and over seven feet tall, which is pretty normal for a bear, actually. But it's giving off pulses of that weird energy signal that Dean's felt in the man who shoved him into this cage and the woman at the bar.

Somehow, Dean doesn't think that this bear is actually a bear.

Shape shifter. Has to be. Dean's fucking with _shape shifters_.

Dean sighs. "Why does it always have to be shape shifters?" He asks no one in particular, "I _hate_ shape shifters."

The bear roars and opens its arms, like it's going to give Dean the deadliest hug he's ever had in his life. Behind him Dean can hear the group cheering, but whether it's for him or for the bear he doesn't know.

Dean rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles.

"Come on then, Yogi." He says with a smirk, beckoning the bear to charge him. "Make my day."

The bear drops to all fours and charges at him. There's a gasp from the crowd but Dean stands his ground. He's done this before, played chicken with something that's so much bigger and powerful than him and he's won.

Or course, back then he had a shotgun, so he's not too sure how well this whole thing is going to turn out.

The bear is fast, faster than he would've expected, but it's not as fast as the wendigo. Dean's crouching and when the bear raises its paw to slash at his face he dives forward, rolling under the outstretched arm and to the side, coming up behind it.

It's close. Dean can smell the strong musk of its fur as he passes close enough to gut it. Which he would have if he'd been allowed a weapon of any kind.

Seriously. Who sets a bear on the customers? How is that good business?

The bear can't stop its momentum and ends up face planting into the cage. The entire thing strains and there's a screech of metal on metal. Dean glances up for a second to see the hooks bolted into the ceiling, keeping the cage in place, straining. Some of them are even half pulled out.

There's a collective gasp from the audience and some of them back away from the cage – out of the danger zone.

From their reaction and the way that the ceiling around the hooks hasn't been patched up numerous times, Dean can tell that this isn't normal behaviour. Even Cherif s looking alarmed and that can't be a good thing.

Dean has the sinking suspicion that he's going to get murdered in this cage and the worst thing that will happen to these fuckers is that their bar will be closed down.

Or, hey, maybe they have some kind of mind whammy and they'll just make everyone forget about him and feed his body to the alligators here. He wouldn't put it past them.

Dean catches his breath as the bear untangles itself and turns. It's looking even more pissed off than usual.

Dean cracks his neck and smirks again. The bear is human, or was human, Dean's sure of it.

Another thing Dean's sure of is that human's make mistakes. And humans make a lot more mistakes when they're angry.

This plan is either going to work, or fail spectacularly.

"What? Don't blame me." Dean says mockingly, "You were the one too stupid to stop."

The bear's eyes narrow.

That was definitely a human expression. Dean buffs his nails on his shirt and pretends to ignore the five hundred pounds of shape shifter currently wanting to eat him.

"No one has ever won against you? I can't think why-"

He's cut off when another swipe nearly takes his head off. Dean barely manages to duck in time.

He has to keep ducking as something he's said has pissed the bear off and it's really gunning for him.

Dean misses his knife.

It's on one of the passes where Dean's managed to trick the bear into running into the cage again, that Dean spots Sam. He's come forward, pushing his way through the crowd until he's at the wire fence. He's the only one within ten feet of the cage apart from Cherif and the bouncer, so it couldn't have been that hard. Everyone else is pressed as far back as they can get, murmuring between themselves and looking worried.

"Dean!" He calls out when he sees that he's got Dean's attention.

Dean gives him a cocky salute because he's _Dean_.

Sam rolls his eyes just before they widen dramatically.

"Dean! Duck!"

Dean feels the pulse of electricity a moment before Sam finishes his shout and throws himself forward.

Dean hits the floor hard, knocking the wind out of him for a moment, and thinks he's safe. But then screaming agony streaks down his back and he chokes on a yell of pain. No one hears him because there's suddenly a lot more screaming.

Dean wonders why the audience is screaming.

His back is hot and sticky. Dean hopes the bear didn't drool or piss on him or something.

He can still hear Sam yelling at the two shape shifters standing outside the cage though. Something about "no waiver". Guess Sam's remembered his lawyer training.

Dean's interested. Really. But he's got a bear on his back and he needs to get up before he's mauled.

He pushes himself up and chokes again on a yell. Gritting his teeth he only gets the warning of a shadow to know that the bear is _right on top of him_.

With strength he doesn't know he has, he rolls out of the way. The floor _shakes_ when the bear lands but Dean's more concerned with how fucked up his back is because no way was his vision supposed to blacken doing that manoeuvre.

He scrambles up. More pissed off than usual. His hands skid a little on the wooden floor and Dean thinks that someone might've spilt their drink but when he glances down its blood. _His_ blood.

He turns to face the bear, which is _still_ gunning for him, and there's a collective intake of breath.

Guess it's more messed up than usual.

It's hard to breathe through the pain, but Dean's had worse. Well, he can't think of anything right now, but Dean's _sure_ he's had worse. There's no way that a _bear_ has managed to deal him more damage than over twenty years of hunting. Even if it _is_ a shape shifter.

There's a commotion and Dean hears pounding footsteps retreat.

But there's something wrong with him. There's a lot more electricity than normal. Well, that he's gotten used to in this place. Dean can feel it building in him. Feel it thrum beneath his feet. And he realises that it's in the wires. He's feeling the electricity in the _wires_.

It's fucked up and Dean doesn't know what kind of shit power this is, because it's more than a bit distracting, and Dean has already got to deal with a pissed off bear.

It doesn't stop it though. Dean's practically lightheaded from the level of power it's reaching. Or maybe that's just the blood loss.

Either way, when the bear comes at him again, he thinks it's an _awesome_ idea to not move out of the way. Instead, he draws his fist back.

If the bear's gonna eat him, then he's gonna punch it in the face.

The bear roars as it pounds closer to him and Dean can smell its breath. It raises his arm for a killing blow and Dean screams back.

The door that the bear came through springs open but Dean's too busy to pay much attention.

The electricity is at breaking point and Dean feels like he's going to rip apart if he doesn't get rid of it. He takes a swing just as the bear does, but he's faster than it and his fist connects first. There's a crunch as his knuckles connect with the jaw and then an explosion and practically all the lights in the place pop at the same time.

The bear goes flying back, landing heavily on the floor with a thump and starts to rapidly flick through shapes, going from bear to man and back to bear again. Dean collapses to his knees, panting heavily. He feels like he's just gone ten rounds with a…well, with a _bear_ , and then someone's tasered him in the back.

Everyone starts screaming.

The electricity's gone, apart from the weird signatures that the shape shifters are giving off. They're looking at him in shock.

Yeah, Dean doesn't know what the fuck just happened either.

Before the lights come back on, they drag the bear-man out of the door and the sight of the humans. Then Sam rushes through and falls to his knees next to Dean, skidding a little in the blood.

"Dean!"

Dean's trying to catch his breath, but it isn't working.

"Hey. Sammy." He pants.

Sam's hands are hovering. He obviously doesn't know where he can touch Dean without hurting him more than he already is. Dean decides to help him out by raising his arm as much as possible.

It's not much because his back is _killing_ him.

"Help me up."

Sam gets the hint and situates himself under Dean's arm, throwing it over his shoulders, and stands, dragging Dean up with him.

Dean groans as Sam helps him limp out of the cage.

They enter the back room. There's a strange sort of light floating by the ceiling and purple-eyes and greenie are there with a whole bunch of other people. Outside of the door, Dean can hear people being asked to leave politely. Seems they're being told a fuse has burst or something.

Dean can hardly concentrate though and lets his head loll on Sam's shoulder. He's not going to fall though. No way is he going to let these shape shifting bastards get one more up on him.

And they are shape shifters, as each and every one of them has that weird power signature. All except greenie and purple-eyes whose power is too much and makes Dean ill when he concentrates on it.

"Savvy?" Greenie asks.

Purple-eyes sighs and clicks his fingers. The pain in Dean's back immediately dims. It still feels like he's had a run in with a baseball bat, but when has a hunt ever left him feeling any different?

It's enough so he pulls back from Sam and raises his chin, staring the group straight in their eyes.

Fuck. He wants to go home and sleep for three days.

One of the guys pushes forward and gets in Sam's face. "You want to tell us what that was about?"

"I don't know." Sam spits back - and whoa is Sam mad or what? – "You want to tell me what a lawyer is going to think of shoving my brother in a cage with an enraged bear?"

"There's a wavier-"

The guy tries to wave Sam off but Sam interrupts him with a " _Which Dean didn't sign._ "

That brings the guy up short.

"Furthermore," Sam says pressing closer to the man, "Whatever happened to the whole, 'no blood spilt' policy that you practically shoved down our throats when we were first arrived? Or does that not count for you? Or is it because you're a were-hunter? Typical." Sam scoffs, "So not only do you try and murder my brother, you think you can get away with it too because this is a were-bar."

"He hit on my _sister_ -" the guy tries.

"I thought this place was supposed to be a _sanctuary_. It's not much of a safe place if the people who run it try and kill you within its walls."

And Dean has never seen his brother so confrontational. The guy is four inches taller than Sam and practically cowering.

He regroups a little. "Yeah, well the no magic rule still applies. Your boy used electrokinesis. It's gonna take Quinn hours to get over that blast."

"That would be the electrokinesis Dean used to defend his life, yes?" Sam asks. "Do you honestly expect me to swallow that bullshit? Especially after your brother tried to rip out _my brother's_ spine?"

Dean wishes he had popcorn. Man, if this is lawyer Sam, Dean's a little regretful that he pulled him away from the profession to go into a life of hunting. Sam is _glorious_ and completely in his element.

Dean's enjoying it immensely.

"Now wait just a min-" another man says, stepping up next to the man Sam just ripped apart with his argument.

"No." Sam interrupts him. "No, I think we're done here." He grabs Dean's arm and starts to drag him out towards the exit, making sure that he's between Dean and the shape shifters at all times.

He pushes Dean out into the night and Dean turns around to watch Sam get in one last parting shot.

Sam turns to face the group, who haven't moved. "It's nice to know what kind of establishment you're running here." Sam says, "We'll be sure to let everyone know about your welcoming hospitality. After all, it's not like you're supposed to be a safe-haven or anything."

###

Dean's walking next to Sam. He's never been so proud of his brother.

Sam glances at him and shuffles uncomfortably, "What?" he asks.

Dean grins and claps him on the arm. "Nothing, man."

Sam scowls and rolls his shoulders, but Dean can see the pleased glimmer in his eyes. "Whatever."

Dean's about to tease him a bit more when he feels another power source. It's weird, like the shape shifters, but twisted into something else.

He stops and stares off into the direction the source is. Sam stops after a few paces when he notices that Dean isn't walking besides him anymore.

"Dean?" Sam asks.

Dean shushes him and then concentrates. He's got a _bad_ feeling about that power.

Dean starts to walk towards it. Quickly speeding up into a jog and then a sprint.

He's getting the feeling that he's going to be too late.

Sam's sprinting next to him, clutching at his laptop bag so it doesn't bang against his hip, following Dean's lead. Dean has no idea where he's going but he needs to get there now.

He spots an alleyway between two tall buildings. It's hidden in shadow and the power is coming from there. Dean changes direction and charges in to find a blond guy sucking on a woman's neck.

Dean barely hears Sam's "Sandy!" or remembers that he's got absolutely no weapons on him or that he's just wrestled a bear and had his back torn open. All he sees is that the woman is fading fast and this _thing_ is killing her.

 _Daimon_ , his mind whispers to him as Ash's information comes to the forefront, _attack the inkspot and it'll die_.

He lets out a yell, which startles the guy into removing his teeth from the woman's neck, and then Dean leaps and spear tackles him to the floor.

Dean hears Sam skid to a stop behind him and curse, but he's rolling with the daimon, trying to untangle himself.

They both pull away. Dean standing protectively in front of Sam and the woman.

"Dark Hunter." The daimon spits at him in disgust, his eyes alighting on Dean's tattoo. Dean smirks at him.

The daimon reaches into his waistband and pulls out a knife in retaliation and Dean really, really wishes Sam didn't talk him out of leaving all his weapons at home.

The daimon smirks when it realises that Dean doesn't have a weapon.

"What's this?" He says, "You're going to die tonight Dark Hunter, and then I will eat that woman's soul."

Obviously the daimon doesn't know that he's dealing with _Dean Fucking Winchester_.

The fight is short. The daimon rushes Dean with the knife, but it's obvious that he's either never wielded one before, or the alleyway is messing him up, because Dean easily evades the slash. The daimon's momentum carries him forward and Dean catches him by the collar and shoulder and spins, throwing the daimon headfirst into the wall.

The daimon crumples, the knife clattering to the floor. Dean picks up the knife – it's nicely made – and kicks over the daimon, who's dazed and bleeding from the forehead.

The daimon's eyes struggle to focus and when they do a look of horror crosses his face "No, please." He begs.

Dean hesitates.

" _Please_."

The Daimon's scrabbling back, raising a hand in front of his face to protect him. As if _Dean_ is the bad guy here.

"Please, please don't kill me."

Dean can't do it. His body is frozen and he can only watch as the daimon crawls further away and scrabbles up.

Sam curses quietly behind him again and Dean remembers the woman. The innocent woman whose _soul_ this thing was about to eat. His face sets and he takes two strides forwards and buries the knife straight through the daimon's back, right where his inkspot is.

It happens so fast that the daimon doesn't even have time to cry out before he explodes into a cloud of golden dust.

"Dean?" Sam calls out, bringing Dean back to the present.

Dean lowers his arm, hiding the fine tremors that are running through it, and turns to find Sam with his over-shirt pressed against the woman's neck. His hands and arms are stained with her blood. It's obvious that she's going to die soon if she doesn't get medical help.

Dean hurry's over.

"I've called an ambulance." Sam says, "Could you go out and wave it down when it comes?"

The woman is gripping Sam's free hand, the one that isn't pressing the make-shift compress against her neck. She smiles up at Sam and Dean can see the light dimming in her eyes.

Sam sees it too because he chokes a little and says, "No. Come on, Sandy. Stay with me. There's an ambulance on its way. You're going to be fine."

"My…hero…" Sandy chokes out as she starts to shake.

Dean leaves.

###

The ambulance is quick to come and Dean doesn't need to do much to flag it down. The paramedics have Sandy loaded up and on her way to the hospital in record time. Dean hides himself away, leaving Sam to deal with giving police statements.

The police are not something he wants to deal with before he knows for sure that his face isn't on the 'most wanted' boards anymore.

When Sam heads off with the police, Dean leaves too. A policeman has been left to cordon off the alleyway but it's easy enough to sneak past him.

Then Dean heads home as it's all he can do.

It's almost dawn when Sam gets back. He's pale and Dean can see Sandy's blood speckling his undershirt. His over-shirt is stuffed in his laptop bag. He must have washed his hands at the station though because other than the few speckles, there's nothing to tell that Sam was arms deep in it.

"Sam?" Dean asks quietly, because Sam looks exhausted.

Sam ignores him and slumps down on his bed, his hand covering his eyes.

"Fuck." Sam says after a moment.

Dean can't help but agree.


	6. December 6th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This also has an accidental kiss…of a sort. Which I think is hilarious, but, as a warning. It's slightly Wincesty. So…yeah.

Sam gets the call just after Dean wakes up.

He's pulling on his jeans and has to scramble to answer before it switches to the answerphone.

"Yeah?" He says, fumbling to do up the zip, and then, "Yes, this is Sam Winchester. How is she?"

There's a pause and Dean watches as Sam's face falls. He sits up straighter and starts to give his full attention.

"Oh." Sam says, and his voice is small in their room, "I see. Thank you for telling me." He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

Dean knows what's just happened.

"Is there any family?" Sam asks.

There's another, longer pause, and then Sam clicks his phone shut and sits heavily on the bed.

Dean just looks at him. Watches as Sam pushes his fingers against his closed eyes.

"She died last night." Sam says eventually. "Blood loss. They tried everything they could. Apparently."

The last comes out bitter and Dean flinches. It's bad enough that their hunts are found by following a trail of corpses. People they had failed.

But to save someone and have her die later? It's a bitter pill to swallow.

"At least her soul isn't being eaten." Dean points out.

"Yeah." Sam's jaw is clenched shut and Dean knows how he feels.

It's a hollow victory.

Dean remembers his hesitation in killing the daimon. It's that monsters fault that this girl is now dead. The fact that he paused makes him feel dirty.

He stands quickly and his head spins. Purple-eyes may have healed his back, but he hadn't done anything about the blood loss and Dean is feeling the side-effects today.

Sam looks up at Dean's sharp movements.

"I'm going for a shower." Dean says, and grabs a towel, making his way quickly to the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, is huge. It's also done up in marble and gilt. Dean doesn't know if this is a reflection on Ash's character, or just something that all Dark Hunters get, but either way he's marking someone down in his books.

As usual, Dean ignores the lavish decorations and drops his sleep clothes in a pile, kicking them over to the wall.

He turns on the water and allows it to heat up as he checks out his back in the mirror. It's healed, but scarred. The scar tissue is white, like it's been there for years. Dean hopes Bobby never sees it because he has no idea how he's going to explain this one away.

The mirror is beginning to steam up so Dean turns away from his reflection and steps under the spray in the giant walk-in shower. It's one of the one things he loves about this place. Motel showers never seem to get the pressure just right and there's always something questionable about the tub.

The water's hot and Dean presses his hands to the cool tiles, letting it run down his back. He can still feel twinges in the muscles every so often which is annoying. But not as annoying as being able to sense electricity.

It's there, a constant thrum that invades Dean's mind every waking moment, now that he knows what it is.

Dean had thought about it, seeing what Ash had given him about it. It's the ability to sense and shape electricity, that's about it. It certainly helped him deliver a five fingered death punch to the shape shifter yesterday night.

But what Sam doesn't realise is that Dean is now living in a city. A city that is practically straddled with veins of wires. And while Dean can understand older immortals getting used to the build-up of power being used by humans, Dean's just been dropped in it and feeling like his teeth are going to vibrate out his skull any waking moment is beyond distracting.

Dean sighs and stands, quickly soaping himself down and rinsing off.

He'll get used to it. He'll have too. Because, while he doesn't really like cities all that much, there's no way that he's going to go live in the _wilderness_ to get some peace.

He switches off the water and steps out, wrapping the towel around his waist and carefully walking over to the sink. The marble floor was a design flaw.

Dean grabs his toothbrush and starts to clean his teeth, being mindful of his new fangs. And any day he's going to start panicking about that too.

Done, he spits then straightens, wiping the mirror down.

Sandy's standing behind him.

Dean lets out a yell and spins round. He does it too fast, however, and his feet slip out from under him on the wet floor.

The last thing he sees is Sandy looking guilty before the back of his head connects with the sink and the rest is blackness.

###

Sam's washing up at the kitchen sink when he notes Dean walk into the kitchen.

"Good shower?" He asks with a smirk because, damn it, the world may be going to hell, but he can still tease his brother, "You were in there for a while."

He doesn't think anything of Dean not answering. Too caught up in planning what to do with the rest of the evening and if he should really bring charges down on Sanctuary. He knows were-hunters can modify memories so it'll be hard, but surely _someone_ would have gotten phone footage of some kind.

He does, however, notice when Dean presses himself against Sam's back and wraps his arms around Sam's waist.

Sam freezes.

Is Dean initiating a hug?

What the fuck.

Sam peers over his shoulder to see Dean wearing the most blissful expression ever on his face.

It is the creepiest thing Sam has ever seen. Even creepier because Dean's wearing it while holding onto Sam.

"Uh…Dean?" Sam asks, and restrains from smashing the mug he's been cleaning onto Dean's head.

"Mmmm…" Dean says, and snuggles in closer.

Okay. That just sent Sam's weirdness meter off the charts. No way is he ever going to be able to forget this.

Sam jerks out of Dean's hold and twists so his back isn't anywhere near him. He brandishes the mug as if it can keep Dean away. Seeing as it's the same mug as the one Dean ran from before, Sam figures he's got a fifty-fifty chance.

Dean actually looks hurt.

"What the hell, man?" Sam asks. His back feels itchy now. Like there are ants crawling under his skin and _oh god_ this is why Dean never wants to do chick-flick moments. All these years Sam thought he was emotionally stunted when it turns out Dean was just saving him from a lifetime of mental scarring.

"I'm sorry," Dean pouts and then claps his hand over his mouth in surprise.

Sam can only stare at him.

"Wow," Dean says, blink a few times, "my voice is _really_ low."

"Dean?" Sam tries again and then, because his question still hasn't been answered, "What the hell, man?"

Dean pokes his stomach and that's when Sam realises that Dean's only wearing a towel. "I have _great_ abs though." He hums happily and runs his fingers over them.

Sam would like to go home now.

Then Sam notices a trickle of blood running down Dean's neck.

"Dean," Sam says, "did you hit your head?"

A head wound would explain the weird behaviour. Sam puts the mug down on the bench and walks over to Dean, hoping to get a closer look.

It was a Bad Idea.

As soon as Sam's close enough, Dean pounces. Dean's arms wrap around Sam's waist and push him off balance. They stagger into the table and Sam trips over a chair, sending the both to the ground.

Sam winces and opens his eyes to find Dean still wrapped around him, lying on top of Sam. Dean has his chin resting on Sam's chest and is staring at him.

Then Sam notices that Dean's towel has come loose somewhere in the kerfuffle and _his brother is naked and on top of him_.

Sam is now, officially scarred for life. There is no way this can get any worse.

"Whoops!" Dean says, and the only way Sam can describe it is perkily.

Dean is perky.

 _Perky_.

"Dean." Sam says, taking a deep breath, but whether that's to hold in a scream of horror or to stop himself beating the unholy hell out of his brother, Sam doesn't know.

"Stronger than I thought!" Dean says, and grins happily at Sam.

Sam sighs and prepares to lock this memory away in a big metal box that he will never, ever open again. Once that's done he figures that he might as well check Dean's head injury now and run's his fingers through Dean's hair, seeing if he can find a bump or a gash or something.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks, his voice drowsy.

And Sam never in his life wanted to know that running his hands through his brother's hair made Dean sleepy. Ever.

"I'm checking for injuries."

Dean smiles beatifically at him. "My hero."

Sam chokes and stills, his eyes widening. He stares at Dean who's looking back at him.

It's a stupid thought. A horrible thought that is so not true and when Sam says anything then Dean's going to punch him. But he can't _not_ say anything either because passages from the handbook are running through his head.

He licks his lips.

"Sandy?"

Dean grins brightly. "Hi Sam!"

"Oh, hey." Sam says, horrified.

Then Dean kisses him and Sam feels something poking him in the thigh.

Sam was wrong. Things got a lot worse very, very fast.

###

Sam's making sure that he's sitting on the opposite side of the table to Dean – Sandy – Dean. Seriously, he's gotta figure out how to refer to Dean, _Sandy damn it_ , now.

"So now do you understand why I punched you in the face?"

Dean, _Sandy_ , pouts and presses the icepack firmly against his, _her_ , cheek. He, _she_ , is wearing clothes now that Sam brought through and made him, _her_ , put on.

"You didn't have to." Possessed Dean mumbles, eyes downcast to the table top.

Crap. Now Sam feels bad. Like he's punched a girl in the face, which… _technically_ …

He clears his throat. "You made me kiss my brother." He says. Like it should explain and excuse all punching. _Which it totally did, thank you very much._

Sandy-Dean looks up and there are tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam." S-he says. "I didn't know he was your brother, I just though…"

S-he trails off with an embarrassed squirming.

Sam locks this memory away in his big metal box too.

"What?" He asks. Because he's curious and damn it! This is what always gets him into trouble.

SanDean looks up, "Well, no one really turns me down," S-he says at last, "so when you did I thought you might be gay."

Sam grimaces.

"And then, when I…yeah…well, I came here, because you were _there_ and you helped me and I saw you were living with this guy and that you might…er…you know, with him."

Sam's grimace gets worse.

"I was only going to watch!" S-he protests, "While I was…um…in his body so I could feel everything…but then he slipped and knocked himself out and I didn't want to wait until he woke up to see you again.

"I didn't think he was your brother. I just thought that I'd get a jump start on the whole…thing."

Sam wants to cry.

Now.

Please.

Sam presses his fingers against his eyes and tries not to scream out loud. It's working, but only just. The voice in his head is screaming and crying pretty loudly anyway.

"Okay," he says and nods, "okay. Just, er…you know that isn't going to happen right?"

SanDean sighs and props her chin in her hand. "Too kinky for you?"

"Yes." Sam says after a moment of consolation for his inner voice, "Too kinky.

"Way, way too…just, no."

SanDean grins at him. "Too bad."

There's an awkward pause.

"Well," Sam says after a moment, "It was nice…er…seeing you again. Um, thanks for visiting but could you please get out of my brother now?"

SanDean blinks and then looks sheepish. "Ah, sorry!" S-he says and then pulls a really weird face.

Seriously, after _everything_ that has just happened, Sam shouldn't find this face creepy at all. But he does, and it is, and he pulls back away from the table a little bit.

"Um…" He says after a moment where SanDean's expression hasn't changed.

It's really starting to remind Sam of a kid who's trying to poop his pants. Dean's face is going red. It's all very alarming.

Dean relaxes and then opens his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam says cautiously.

"Ah," Sandy says, " _little_ bit of a problem there."

Sam sighs. He'd been worried about this. The handbook did warn them.

"You can't get out, can you." Sam says, deadpan. He doesn't even need to ask.

SanDean looks sheepish. "Sorry!"

Great.

This is just…great. Sam's going to have to try all sorts of crap now.

"Maybe when Dean wakes up I'll just be pushed out?" Sandy tries hopefully.

"Well, it's worth a shot at least." Sam concedes and scratches the back of his head.

There's another silence.

"So," Sam says, because now he's curious, "where _is_ Dean?"

SanDean grimaces and Sandy says, "I dunno, I can't feel him at all. I think he's still unconscious. He hit his head pretty hard."

Sam sighs. Of course Dean did. He rolls his eyes. He's probably got ages to wait for Dean to wake up too.

"So…um. Wanna watch some TV?"

###

Dean wakes up halfway through a program on sharks.

This isn't the bathroom.

"Dude, what?"

Sam looks at him. "Dean?" he asks cautiously.

Dean looks at him weirdly, "Who do you think it would be? I'm the only one in here."

"You'd be surprised." Sam says.

 _What the fuck?_ Dean thinks.

 _Hi, Dean!_

Dean flinches at the voice and clutches at his head with wide eyes.

"What the fuck!"

Sam turns back to the TV, bored. "Sandy." He says, like it should explain everything. "Guess you didn't get pushed out then."

 _Um, no, sorry._

Dean blinks. Then, because he's not sure if he's supposed to say it or not, he says, "Er…she said, 'no, sorry.'"

Sam nods and turns off the TV with the remote. "Okay, it was a thin hope anyway but I thought I'd try it. Go for the relatively painless option first."

"Sam." Dean says slowly, "Why have I got a girl in my head?"

Sam snorts and ignores Dean, picking up a book from the pile of books on the coffee table. "Right, let's try and exorcism, shall we?"

 _Woo! This is so cool!_ Dean hears in his head. _Is there going to be a light do you think? I thought there'd be a light before, but there wasn't. Just the hospital. I woke up hovering in the empty room you know? There was a weird creature there with wings and I was scared and then I remembered that Sam saved me last time so I went to find him and did! Because I'm an awesome tracker like that!_

 _Oh, dear God._ Dean thinks clutching his head, _Make it stop._

###

The exorcisms don't work.

Sam's tried every single one he can find any reference of. He's even gotten so desperate that he's gone looking on the internet.

Nope. Nada. Zilch.

Sam's getting kinda desperate now. Sam's not sure that salting and burning Sandy's body is going to get rid of her. Sandy seems pretty attached to Dean and Sam doesn't think killing Dean is a good enough option to get her out either. Actually, it's pretty much not an option. At all.

Besides, the hospital still has her body and they can't just _steal_ it. Not from there. It's one thing to dig up a coffin; it's another entirely to steal a fresh body from the morgue.

If Bobby or Ash don't have any ideas then they're just going to have to wait until Sandy's buried and then do the salting and burning then. That is, if her family don't claim her body and take it away who knows where. Because then Sam will have to follow after them and leave Dean all alone to cope by himself and just _look_ at what happened the last time Sam did that.

…Sandy isn't so bad anyway…

Sam glances over to Dean.

Dean's looking like he has the biggest headache of his life.

He's sitting on the sofa, clutching his head and murmuring "Make it stop, make it stop." And rocking back and forth a little.

Sam doesn't want to know what that's about.

"Um," he interrupts Dean and Dean looks at him with crazy eyes. Same takes a step back and points to his phone. "I'm going to call Bobby to see why these aren't working."

Dean nods and goes back to his rocking.

Sam backs away slowly until he's in the kitchen. He closes the door so he knows Dean won't overhear him and phones Bobby.

"What?"

Sam grins at the gruff tone. God, he's missed Bobby, "Hey Bobby."

"Sam." Bobby says, and there's a shuffling noise, "What's happened now?" Bobby sounds resigned.

"Um…" Sam says, feeling suddenly like he's a teenager again caught doing something stupid. "Dean's got possessed by a ghost and now it's stuck in his head."

There's a silence and then Bobby says, "You wanna say that again?"

"Dean," Sam winces, "Dean got possessed by a ghost. And we can't get it out of him. I've tried all the exorcisms I can think of."

Bobby snorts. "Exorcisms only work on possessing demons." He says.

Sam has been afraid of that.

"If you wanna get rid of a ghost you have to salt and burn, you know that."

Sam does. It's just that he also knows that salting and burning is kind of a one-time deal. And he's not even sure if that'll get rid of Sandy or if it'll just trap her in Dean forever.

"Yeah," Sam says, "I was worried you say that."

"Why?" Bobby's voice is sharp, "Is there a problem getting the body?"

Sam rubs at his eyebrow, "No, everything's under control. I just thought I'd try this way first. Thanks, Bobby."

"Well, okay then." Bobby still sounds suspicious, "But I want a call when this is all over with all the details."

Sam nods, then realises that Bobby can't see him. "Yeah, okay. I'll call you when everything's done. Thanks again, Bobby."

Sam hangs up and stares at his phone. He glances to the door and then presses number three on his speed-dial.

"Sam." Ash's voice sounds tired.

"Uh, hey Ash." Sam winces, "Um, I have a question for you."

"No, I will not take you to see Atlantis."

Sam clears his throat. "Uh, no. It's not about that…"

There's a pause and then Ash says, "Then what is it?" He sounds curious.

"Um…" Sam stalls, "Say, _hypothetically_ , that Dean…got possessed by a ghost."

"…right?" The word is drawn out.

"Is there any _super-secret_ and easy way to get said hypothetical ghost out of Dean without destroying the hypothetical ghost."

"Sam." Ash says, "Is there a ghost possessing Dean?"

"No, no!" Sam laughs and it comes out strained. "Why would you think that?"

There's a pause that says, _I don't believe you._

"If Dean wants to get rid of the hypothetical ghost then he's got to kill himself to free it. Or he's gotta learn how to live with it until it gets too weak to bother him anymore."

Sam grimaces. Fuck.

"Right," he says, "right. Thanks."

"Sam," Ash says, "is there something you want to tell me?"

"Not really! Thanks for clearing that up! Bye!"

Sam hangs up before he can dig himself in it any deeper and face palms.

They are _so screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Any and all Wincest was for the purposes of entertainment. Mostly mine. There is no more Wincest ever.
> 
> Ever, ever.


	7. December 7th

When Sam walks back through into the living room, Dean is still sitting there with his head in his hands.

Sandy has been nattering to him practically non-stop about anything and everything; hair, clothes, make-up…waxing.

Dean does not need to know how to properly take care of his T-zone, thank you very much. He is a man. Men do not need this sort of thing. He doesn't care how badly car oil is for the skin or anything like that.

 _But girls won't want to go out with you! It's going to completely mess up your face!_

Not even if dry skin is going to put girls off on him.

Wait.

 _So what you do_ , Sandy's saying in his head, _is first you get the exfoliator, and you don't need much! Remember that! But you shouldn't just give it a quick wipe either. You really have to get in there to take off the layer of dead skin._

Urgh. It's like having a little sister in his brain.

Or what he imagines Sammy would have talked to him about during puberty if he'd had half a chance.

 _You'll have to probably work it a little harder as I've noticed your skin is oily, and not in the natural oils either._

 _It's like my ex-boyfriend oily when he worked on cars all day. Now, don't get me wrong, he was fit and wore leather like you wouldn't believe, but in the end it was just gross touching him because all his pores ended up blocked and –_

Yeah, thanks, can we get back to making the chicks want him again?

There's a huff of annoyance and Dean can _feel_ Sandy rolling her eyes at him. Even if she doesn't have any eyes per-se at the moment. It's like how Sam can pull a bitch-face without moving any of his muscles.

Impressive, but annoying.

 _Fine_ , Sandy says, and despite everything, Dean finds himself caught up in what she's saying next. It's like he can't help it.

It's reminding him of a chick-flick moment. Only there's no emotion involved. But there's something definitely unmanly about taking advice on how to look pretty for someone.

Oh god, Dean's having a chick-flick moment with himself!

And there's not even going to be any pillow fights between scantily clad women to offset it.

He's ruined.

 _And then when you've done that you moisturise. And remember, you don't need to drown your face in that either. You don't just slap it on like its barbeque sauce on chicken wings, you hear?_

Ruined for life.

Dean glances up when the door to the kitchen closes.

"Well?" He asks. Interrupting Sandy telling him her favourite method is to rub in small circles. Dean wishes she wasn't talking about a cream.

Sam looks like he doesn't know how to tell Dean he's pretty much screwed.

Yeah, like Dean doesn't already know that.

"Salt and burn."

Dean sighs. "And will that get rid of her?" He winces and holds his hands up to his ears as Sandy takes affront at that.

 _What d'ya mean get rid of me. It's not my fault I'm stuck in here, you know. Well, it kinda is, what with me possessing you. But you're the one with the sticky body that won't let me go, so the blame has to be fifty-fifty._

 _Just because no one else can hear me doesn't make my points less valid, Mr Freakishly Hot._

 _I can't believe you want to just get rid of me, like I'm yesterday's trash! Urgh, you remind me of my last ex-boyfriend. He's all-_

"Not rid of her." Dean interrupts with a wince, "Will that allow her to _pass on_."

There's a pause and then Sandy harrumphs and says, _Well that's a bit more like it. It's not like I want to be stuck in your body forever, you know. Especially when you're not going to be doing anything with Sam._

What? Wait, what?

Why is that even an issue?

Why would she even _think_ that?

Dean's interrupted from his thoughts when Sam sighs and flops down on the sofa next to him.

"I dunno man," Sam says after a moment, "salt and burn gets rid of all ghosts, supposedly, but…" he trails off because he doesn't need to finish the sentence.

Sandy isn't just a wandering ghost. She's stuck in Dean.

And if the salt and burn doesn't go as planned – if it breaks the tie between ghost and earthly possession, but Sandy is _still_ stuck in his body – then Dean's screwed.

He might as well let his inner chick out.

Just no.

"What did Ash say?" Dean asks because he doesn't want to think about have a chick in his head for more time than he needs to.

Women are all well and good. It's just Dean has no idea how to react with them on a sociable level. He grew up surrounded by strong male role models. He can barely remember his mom but her memory isn't something he thinks about when he's trying to woo.

And his father never talked to him about this, apart from that really, really awkward conversation when he was thirteen and he had his first wet dream and _oh god_ Dean's just traumatised remembering that godforsaken _town_ never mind the conversation.

Especially since his dad had decided to approach it like he had done any hunt and gathered every single fact and presented it in excruciating detail.

Including gay sex.

And then tried to bring feelings into it.

It's practically a miracle that Dean didn't develop some sort of complex about it all. Though it had taken Dean three months to work up the nerve to look his father in the eye after that.

If he thinks on it, it probably took his father the same amount of time too.

Winchester men are repressed.

Yeah, Dean knows it. And he's quite happy with it too.

And Sam wonders why Dean wants to have nothing to do with any part of that time. Even though everything is basically a triggering incident. Yeah, big mystery.

Sam had it better though as their dad had left for a week and left Dean to explain the second time around. Of course, he left under the pretence of a 'hunt' but Dean has absolutely _no_ illusions as to what he was really doing.

Somehow, Dean doesn't think he's done Sam a favour there because Sam is the closest Dean has ever had to having someone with a female role in his life.

It's probably not supposed to be his little brother.

Sam looks anywhere but at his brother. "Oh, you know…" he says. He can't last long and his eyes flick over to see Dean staring at him and looking very unimpressed.

"Dude," Dean says slowly, "I have a chick. In my head."

And the strangest urge to try exfoliating.

Sam winces, "Ash says that you pretty much have to live with it or kill yourself."

Dean stares at him. "Yeah, no."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You don't have to be so melodramatic-"

"Yeah." Dean repeats slowly. "No."

Sam bites his lip and Sandy squeals in Dean's mind.

 _Look at him, he's so cute. How can you not want that?_

Dean sighs. _Very easily_. He thinks.

He really shouldn't be encouraging this. He's got nothing against Sandy, but this is not comfortable. He does not find this situation comfortable.

 _Oh pssh. You just don't know hot when you see it._

 _Or,_ Dean thinks because come on! _I just don't see hot in my brother! Seriously, who does that?_

Sandy hums happily, _There were these two brothers in the town where I grew up. They weren't out out, you know? But they'd share these looks sometimes and everyone knew what was going on anyway._

 _They were even twins!_

 _Well one day, a group of us snuck into their backyard and peered through their window and they were locked in this embrace…_

Sandy trails off and Dean experiences a wave of extreme satisfaction.

"Oh God!"

Sam jumps. "What! What is it Dean?"

Dean ignores him; too busy scrubbing his hands through his hair. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…"

 _You know_ , Sandy says, _You don't have to be so vanilla. Some guys get off on female twins kissing._

 _Not in my brain,_ Dean tries to not imagine it, _please, just, not in my brain. Oh God, I am so glad I can't get images from you._

"Dean?"

Dean jumps when he feels Sam's hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"She's a female me!" Dean says, and Sandy snorts in amusement. Sam is looking confused.

"What?"

"Sandy," Dean says, clutching Sam's hand like it's a lifeline to stave off the images of gay incest-y porn. "She's a female me."

"O…kay then." Sam says, trying to surreptitiously tug his hand away from Dean's grip.

Dean thinks he's probably got his crazy face on, but he doesn't care. God, if this was how Sam felt when Dean tried to educate him in the wonders of puberty he's so totally sorry.

Nothing can be worse than this.

Then an image pops into his head. There is tongue. A lot of tongue. And skin.

 _Oh hey!_ Sandy sounds extremely happy with herself _I just figured out how to do that!_

Dean moans and hugs Sam. It's not a chick flick moment, he tells himself. It's a please God save me moment.

"Kill me." Dean's voice is muffled in Sam's shirt, "Please just…kill me."

Sam pats him gingerly on the shoulder. "Let's…try the salting and burning first, eh?"

###

"Okay," Sam says when they're both sitting at the kitchen table. "We need to come up with a plan."

"Right," Dean says, and then promptly sits back because Sam's plans are always the better ones.

Except for the ones that aren't.

Sandy is quiet too, waiting to see what they'll come up with.

"Okay." Sam repeats, and then doesn't say anything else.

After three minutes Dean rolls his eyes.

"We should probably find out what's happening with her body." Dean says. "See if she's got family that's going to take it out of state or something."

Sam nods, "Good plan." And then _looks_ at Dean.

Dean's about to ask him what the hell does he think he's looking at and shouldn't he get onto the internet and do his thing, when he realises that he has Sandy in his head and can probably get the general answers from her.

Dean coughs in embarrassment.

There's a feeling of amusement coming from Sandy.

 _No, Dean_ , she says, _I don't have any family._

Dean doesn't know how he's supposed to react to that, _Um, sorry…_ he thinks.

Sandy scoffs at him, _Don't be. Wasn't your fault._

Sam's still staring at him so Dean turns his attention back to his brother. "She says that she doesn't have any family left."

Sam frowns and looks like he's going to say something, then thinks twice about it. "Right," he says, reaching for his computer, "Well, that makes it…simpler. In a way. The hospital will keep her body and cremate it at the cost of the state.

"The only problem there'll be is if the police try to hold onto it for evidence. But…" Sam trails off and frowns as he types something, "it was a pretty straightforward death. No drugs or anything like that…?"

 _No_ , Sandy chimes in, _I was clean._

Dean shakes his head.

"Right, well," Sam continues, "that means the police shouldn't be tagging her death as suspicious. It's pretty straightforward, meaning that her body should be released soon once the autopsy is done.

"We can probably get the hospital to hold a viewing before the ceremony in the hospital chapel. Open box, and sneak the salt in there. The cremation should take care of the burning."

Sandy's quiet.

Dean sends a questioning thought to her but she doesn't respond - just pulls further back.

Dean's not worried. Except that he is a little concerned.

This is how he and Sam usually talk about cases. How they hash out the details on how they're going to purify and burn a body.

They don't usually do it with the victim in the room though.

Dean stands and Sam shoots him a glance.

"I'm…" Dean trails off because whatever he's going to say, Sandy's going to hear it, and he doesn't think that she'll want his pity.

Instead Dean makes a vague motion at his head. "I'm going to catch up on some TV. Let me know when you've got all the details."

Sam looks guilty for a moment and nods, "Yeah, that's-" he clears his throat, "yeah, okay. I'll do that."

Dean and Sam share a look as Dean makes his way back to the living room.

It's not until Dean's been watching some stupid reality program for ten minutes that he hears a small _'Thank you'_ in the back of his head.

###

Sam was right.

He phoned and checked with the hospital and the police have released the body for burial. Or, in this case, cremation because no relative has come to claim her and it's cheaper for the state.

The hospital has also agreed to hold an open casket in the hospital chapel for them to pay their last respects.

Sandy was quiet the entire time Dean was driving. She stayed silent all the way to the chapel, and even then, when Dean stepped through and saw the coffin, she only let out a quiet gasp in the back of his mind.

Dean tries to ignore the silence, but it's affecting both him and Sam. They share a glance and Dean shakes his head, taking a step forward.

Sam closes the door quietly behind them.

There's a certain reverence in the room, for all that it's buried deep within the building where people die daily.

There's stained glass windows behind the alter where the coffin lies. Two angels watch over. Dean doesn't know which ones. Sam might.

Some interior designer has mimicked sunlight by putting lights behind the glass.

When Dean looks down into the coffin, Sandy is lit up by the golden glow from one of the angel's halo.

 _Oh._

Dean feels Sam step up beside him and pull out the bottle of salt.

"Dean?" He asks.

"Give us a moment." Dean says, and Sam goes to sit on the nearest bench, keeping a look out.

 _Sandy_ , Dean thinks.

Crap, he's really not good at this sort of thing.

 _It's…okay, Dean. I was just…they made me pretty again._

Dean can hear her voice trembling. Fuck, she's crying. Dean knows she is. But she's right. The hospital has done a good job fixing her up. Her neck is no longer torn open and they've put her in a generic white dress that makes her look a lot younger.

 _You were always pretty,_ he thinks instead, _I should know._

Sandy huffs out a quiet laugh and Dean responds with his own small smile.

 _Dean_ , Sandy thinks after another moment, _do you think I'll see my parents again?_

 _Why would you think any different?_ Dean questions.

There's another pause and then _I wasn't…I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. After they died I kinda went off the rails. They were Christian's and told me to believe in God's plans but, after they died, I couldn't see what was so great about His plan anyway…_

 _I'm…not…not happy with some of the stuff I've done. Do you…do you think they'll be ashamed? Do you think they've been watching over me?_

Dean's throat closes up for a moment and he has to clear it to breathe properly.

 _My mom…_ he starts, and then stops because this is hard for him too, _My mom used to tell me that angels watch over you. I don't think they'd abandon you because you lost a bit of your faith._

There's silence again as they both regroup.

 _I don't want to…I don't want to look at me anymore…_

Dean bows his head, turns and makes his way to a seat. He avoids Sam's eyes and doesn't even watch as Sam sprinkles a hefty amount of salt over Sandy's body.

He keeps his eyes down until he hears the lid of the coffin close.

###

Sam and Dean sit in the Impala that's parked in the hospital parking lot.

Sandy has sunk back into silence as they wait to see if this actually works.

Dean's just checking the time for the second time in the last five minutes when he feels it. A rippling passing through his head.

 _Oh_. Sandy says, _I think that's…_

Dean flinches as something tugs.

 _I think that's me_. Sandy's voice is a lot fainter, but she seems happier, if nervous. _I'll never forget you both._

There's another tug, but this one is harsher and Dean grimaces.

 _And sorry again about the kiss!_

Sandy's voice is barely discernible but Dean picks it out, and then there's a violent wrenching and Dean collapses across the steering wheel.

"Dean!"

The pain let's up quickly and Dean lets out the breath he's been holding. A cloud of white puffs from his lips. Dean and Sam watch with shock and amazement as it twirls for a moments, and then travels up through the car roof.

"Do you think…?" Sam asks.

"Yeah." Dean nods and then starts the Impala. He frowns and then turns to Sam, "What did she mean by kiss?"

###

Uriel is talking to one of his fellow brothers about the seals when an angel bursts into their conversation.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The angel is low-level. Uriel doesn't even know his name. He does notice that the angel is carrying a soul, cradled in his hands.

"Brother Uriel." The angel says, and Uriel bites back the temptation to make him stand straight and address him properly. Those angels that work with the returning human souls are always a more tainted than the rest of them, and this one is practically vibrating with excitement.

"Yes, brother?" Uriel asks coldly. It seems to take a bit of energy out of the angel and Uriel is pleased.

"I know you have been looking for the vessels." He says.

Uriel's eyes immediately zone in on the cradled soul. "Is that the soul of one of the vessels?"

If it's Dean's soul then there has been a major mix-up and someone is going to pay.

"No, but this soul – Sandy – she has just arrived and…well…"

The angel offers the soul out and Uriel bites back a sigh. He hates doing this. Reluctantly he stretches out his grace to twine with the human and is immediately bombarded with the last thoughts and impressions.

He pulls back his grace with a thoughtful look.

The angel holding the soul looks at him questioningly, "Brother Uriel?"

Uriel turns, "Go get Brother Castiel for me." He says, "It seems I have found his missing charge."

###

Castiel doesn't expect the summons, but he doesn't keep Uriel waiting when it comes.

"Ah, Castiel." Uriel says with a smile when Castiel appears before him and kneels.

"Brother Uriel. What need have you of me?"

Uriel's smile becomes bigger and he motions Castiel to stand. "I have found your charge, Castiel. He is in New Orleans.

"You have been tasked to retrieve your vessel and contact him."

Castiel nods, "Yes, Brother Uriel."

"Come now," Uriel says gripping Castiel's shoulder, "We are _friends_. It is Uriel."

"Yes, Uriel." Castiel says and turns to leave.

Uriel's grip tightens for a moment, causing Castiel to look back.

"Let's find out why Dean Winchester is not in Hell, hmm?"


	8. December 8th

Castiel doesn't know what to think about being human.

Not that he is human. He hasn't fallen or anything like that.

But it _is_ his first time wearing human flesh and he's not quite sure what he thinks of the experience. Not that his vessel is in anyway faulty. Jimmy Novak has lived a good and devoted life and did not hesitate in offering his flesh for a higher purpose.

But humans' _feel_ so much.

Castiel doesn't know how they cope.

He has watched humans before. Knowing that one day he would be called down to watch over the vessel of Michael.

He did not think that it would be so soon, but he is only a warrior in his garrison and Uriel is of higher rank. He has never met God and he doesn't presume to know His plans.

He has always wondered why they do the things they do. Why they react to the same situations differently. How they can change their minds without any seeming thought. How they can act completely against their nature, and against all previous behaviour.

It is confusing.

Angels are not like this. They _know_ what they are to do. Assigned tasks and train accordingly and if any new task becomes apparent then a messenger is sent with new orders.

There is no free will. There is no need.

There is also no emotion and, having never experienced it, Castiel was unprepared when he took on the flesh of his vessel.

First was the crushing weight of it. Castiel has never been physical in the human sense of the word, just like he has never been affected by gravity. His wings flutter in the metaphysical plain, trying to bend reality so he can fly, but the body he is in anchors him down.

It is a strange experience.

He also finds out first hand that humans have a nervous system that is constantly updating and sending signals to his brain. Every touch of clothing, every brush of wind on his skin was noted, interpreted and catalogued. A constant stream of information that was everywhere and everything.

And that was just his skin. He also received constant signals about internal responses as well.

And on top of that is the hormonal changes and with it strange bodily responses. Heart beating faster, breaths picking up, rapid blinking.

It was all encompassing and he lost himself in it for a time. Feeling elation and sadness, for the first time in human flesh. Feeling the differences between the two.

It was nothing like experiencing everything through his grace.

With grace, things are more fluid. Things exist and they are known but there is no real physicality to them.

Angels are not made of flesh and earth, but of light and will.

Castiel spends three days, curled and invisible trying to take everything in.

He knows this is not unusual, that those who walk in flesh go through this the first time. It is just that training for it and experiencing it are two different things.

In the end he managed to gather enough of his grace to himself to be able to dull down the experiences. Letting his grace flow through his vessel until it was keeping it alive and healthy rather than the oxygen and blood it had constantly needed before.

It is only then that he flies to New Orleans to find his charge.

It isn't as easy as he thought.

For some reason Dean Winchester's soul is _gone_.

Not just gone, but completely missing from this plain of existence entirely, which is… _should be_ … impossible.

Yet here he is.

It seems nothing is impossible for a Winchester, because not only is Dean still alive, apparently, after making a deal with Lilith, but he has managed to keep his soul out of Hell. And not only this, but hide it completely from the eyes of Heaven.

Castiel wonders, briefly, what Dean Winchester has done, and more importantly, if he is still fit to be the vessel.

If he is not, Castiel does not know what will happen, or if he will be held responsible for it.

Castiel also does not know how to find Dean Winchester when he does not have a soul to track.

This was not covered in his training.

He wanders around New Orleans for a time, invisible and watching. Waiting for Dean to show himself.

He is unsuccessful.

Luckily, Jimmy chose not to move on to his heavenly reward when Castiel first entered him, so Castiel sends a query to him. Humans are much more suited to improvising from the situations they find themselves in.

Jimmy, while not being fully conscious, solves his dilemma.

If he cannot find the person he is looking for, then he must search for those closest to him.

Castiel must find Sam Winchester.

###

Sam Winchester is much easier to find than his brother.

While there are demons in New Orleans, they are pure. Sam's soul has been tainted and twisted by being Azazel's child, but he is predominantly human.

And there is only one person in New Orleans right now that has a human soul twisted by demonic influences.

Castiel focuses on that, and flies to it, making sure that he is cloaked from human perception.

Sam Winchester is taller than Castiel has expected.

The soul is also, despite the taint, shining brightly. A pure white constrained with bands of black smoke. It looks painful and Castiel has never seen anything quite like it.

It looks like Sam's soul is too strong for the demonic influence.

But that cannot be right.

Castiel is drawn from his musings when his wayward charge steps up next to his brother and takes a seat opposite him at an outside table belonging to an eatery of some sort.

It is true. Dean is still alive, but missing his soul. He is not even being possessed by a creature pretending to be Dean, which would have been awkward because Castiel would have had to eradicate the creature before finding Dean's soul.

The brothers are talking, their heads held close together as they discuss something obviously private.

Castiel stands back and takes a moment to observe.

These are the vessels.

For all intents and purposes, these are Michael and Lucifer. Michael and Lucifer have their heads turned to each other and are acting like brothers they were, once again.

Castiel feels a sense of vertigo which he overpowers with his grace and Michael and Lucifer become the vessels again. Despite having the human emotions under wraps, Castiel still finds himself panting lightly. He is not completely used to controlling his vessel and some things keep slipping through.

Though why the image affected him so, he does not understand. Castiel was young when Lucifer rebelled. Too young to be on the front lines or do anything important. He'd never even seen Michael and Lucifer act in the same way the vessels are acting. By the time Castiel was allowed out, there was already discord within the host.

And then the battle.

The Host split in two.

The Fall.

And after that Castiel was given his orders.

God fell silent, Michael was never the same, and Gabriel disappeared.

Castiel doesn't know what it was like before, not really, but he knows that he _has_ missed it and his grace yearns for it.

For this scene that the vessels play out without knowing.

Castiel cannot hate them for it, but it is difficult to look on them. To know that they would and have sacrificed everything for each other over and over again.

And a part, a small part, wonders what it would have been like, if Michael and Lucifer had been more like their vessels.

But he has a job to do. He is to watch over Michael's vessel and find out how he is still alive but missing his soul.

He's about to move closer, to put a tag on Dean Winchester so he will be able to find him without his soul, when reality seems to take a breath.

Castiel freezes.

Reality _bends_.

And then there is a man standing next to the brothers. He is tall and imposing, a rucksack slung over his shoulder. He looks human.

He isn't.

An unneeded breath catches in Castiel throat as his grace withdraws enough that bodily functions resume.

Angels can see into the different plains of existence and where, in the mortal world, the man is just that, Castiel can also see his true form.

Marbled blue skin and black lips. Large wings stretch out of his back on either side of him, passing though the other diners like they don't exist. Castiel's own wings draw back into a less imposing stance.

And there, most worrying of all, on a third plain, is a thin band of silver light encircling his head. It is a prince's crown.

An Atlantian god is standing and greeting the vessels like he does it every day. And not just any god, but the prince of gods himself.

Apostolos.

The Final Fate.

There is fear. There is a lot of fear and a little bit of panic too, and that's when Castiel realises that he's pulled back so much he's practically given Jimmy back the reins and it's Jimmy's reactions he's feelings.

Castiel draws further away, but his movement attracts the attention of Apostolos who glances at him over the rim of his sunglasses.

Apostolos' eyes flick between silver and red but it is not the colour that is so unsettling. It is the unmitigated power that flows steadily from his body, almost unconsciously.

Reality holds its breath around him, waiting for him to speak – to shape it anew.

Something curls in Castiel's stomach and he starts to tremble.

He has never stood next to an archangel, but he has a feeling that _this_ is what it would feel like.

And he his scared.

Jimmy must be more aware than Castiel realises because his body jerks and moves away from the gathering.

Once Castiel is far enough out of sight he flies away, somewhere quiet and alone, to regroup.

###

"Ash?"

Acheron turns his attention back to the brothers he has come to see.

"Yes?"

Dean and Sam share a glance.

"Well, er," Sam says after a moment where the brothers fight over who should speak, "you kinda spaced out…"

Ash chuckles "Thought I saw something interesting. But it's gone now."

"Well…that's nice." Dean says and then falls silent tapping his fingers on the table as he waits for their order. A hot drink steams in the cold night air on the table in front of him.

Sam clears his throat, fiddling with his own drink. "Not that we're not thrilled that you're here," he says, "but…why are you here?"

Ash raises an eyebrow as he sits. "Did you forget our conversation?"

Sam flushes slightly and looks awkward. "Um…"

"What conversation?" Dean asks, looking between the two of them.

"The conversation about the hypothetical situation?" Ash prompts Sam further.

There's a certain amount of twisted satisfaction that Ash gets from watching the tall man squirm in his seat.

"Ah," Sam says, "but that's…um…not a problem anymore?"

Ash's other eyebrow joins the first and he turns to look at Dean who is just about to take a drink.

"So you aren't possessed?"

Dean blinks and then makes a face, lowering his cup. "Wait; is that what this is all about?" He asks, "Wow, I thought it was something different there for a moment."

At Ash's curious look Dean clears his throat and continues.

"No, I'm not possessed anymore."

Ash blinks behind his sunglasses. "Anymore?"

"Oh, er…yeah." Sam says.

Ash glances at Dean who is still sitting in front of him and not dead. "Impossible."

"Well, not really," Sam says, "I mean, it was a bit touch and go with the whole will it or won't it work. But," he shrugs, "it did in the end. Though," he pauses, frowning, "it might not have worked so well if Sandy hadn't actually wanted to leave."

"Dude, no." Dean interrupts with a flat stare aimed at his brother, "We are not getting me possessed again so you can test that theory."

"I wasn't going to-" Sam starts but Dean cuts him off with a glare.

"No."

"So Dean _was_ possessed?" Ash asks, because really, the fact that Dean isn't possessed anymore should be impossible and _how does he not know this?_ "How did you get rid of the ghost?"

Sam and Dean share a glance again and have an entire conversation.

Sam is chosen to speak again.

"The same way you get rid of any ghost." He says, "By salting and burning."

It takes a lot of concentration for Ash not to let his mouth drop open. "Salting and burning?" he asks faintly.

Sam shrugs, "Ghosts are only on this plain because they're tied to something here – doesn't have to be a body – you find the thing and salt and burn it, and the ghost has nothing to tether it. They _have_ to pass on."

After all these years.

After the countless Dark Hunters who had fallen prey to possession, whether by accident or not, and have killed themselves to end their suffering…

And it could all have been prevented so easily.

" _How?_ " Ash asks, " _How did I not know this?_ "

"I dunno," Dean says, interrupting Ash's little mental breakdown, "but its kinda standard practise in the hunting game. Sam's a font of weird information though, so if you're this tied up on the easy stuff you should definitely ask him about the weirder things."

Then Ash knows.

Despite his powers, he's spent millennia in ignorance of so simple a solution because _Sam_ told him – and he cannot see Sam's future.

Sam is important to him. Or will be important to him. And as a result, everything Sam says or does is hidden to him. Including all revelations and new information it seems.

Everything has led up to this precise moment.

Ash mentally curses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

To think, that if Sam was not going to be important to him, he would have seen this happening eons ago and would have been able to warn his hunters and act accordingly.

There have been so many senseless deaths.

Then the last thing Dean said penetrates his thoughts and Ash looks up and pins Sam with his eyes.

This man has taught him something new, that has possibly saved the lives and souls of countless people. And it wasn't a new discovery for him.

What else does Sam take as basic knowledge that Ash doesn't know because _Sam hasn't told him yet_.

"Ash?" Sam asks cautiously.

"I think we need to talk, Sam."

Sam swallows nervously and Dean snorts in laughter.

"If I have to give the big brother speech, then I'm not going to do it on an empty stomach." He says and motions for a waiter.

Ash watches as Sam kicks Dean under the table.

###

Stryker sits alone in his throne room in Kalosis.

The Dark Hunters are weak at the moment, he knows. His little groups of daimons are reporting more and more successes on that front.

It seems that Desiderius' plan, while failing spectacularly in the end, was good for something after all. It has left New Orleans open to attack as Acheron's followers scramble to regroup after the last major battle.

The last battle that stole Acheron's best friend from him.

It makes Stryker smile every time he thinks on it.

Stryker is under no illusion that if he gave the dark hunters enough space to breath, then the two forces would be stalemate once again. But for now…

For now _he_ holds the cards.

They will not let up in their attacks. He will not let Acheron breathe or regroup from this. He will push his advantage as far as he can and then he will push some more because _that's what he does_.

For the first time in millennia his forces are not running; they are not skulking in the shadows fighting to live. For the first time since before the dark hunters were even created, _they_ hold the power.

It's a heady thought.

But he cannot get cocky. He must play this carefully. One wrong act, one slip up and Acheron will force the advantage.

He cannot fail.

That is why he is not going to attack all at once. He cannot afford to push for the final battle just yet. He knows that Acheron is powerful enough to rally the troops and Stryker's daimons may not win if that happens.

They do have the advantage that the dark hunters cannot fight together, but taking them out one by one will take too long.

He has to come up with a plan that will force the dark hunters to do what he wants. And what he wants is to gather them all together and wipe them out in one quick stroke.

Except maybe Acheron.

Acheron he'll keep alive just so he can watch all he loves burn around him.

Stryker's hand clenches on the arm rest.

It is because of Acheron that his only son is dead. And while Nick hating Acheron is a good start, that's all it is.

Stryker will see the world burn before he is satisfied.

So tomorrow he will send out a small raiding party, to test the dark hunter's defences and possibly weaken them further.

It's all information that will lead to the end.

They attack at the setting of the sun.


	9. December 9th

Thorn slams the door to his throne room open and strides through. A poor minion trails after him but he's too far into his rage to properly care who or what. All he can see is red and he's going to get this off his chest because there has been a fuck-up of _major proportions_ and somebody is going to pay.

He has a feeling that, in the end, it might be him. And if _that's_ the case then he's going to bitch and rant to all his apparently _useless_ minions right here and now so when he _does_ die in a fiery ball of hellfire and his father's rage, he'll go out knowing that his people know full and well how unimpressed he is with how they've managed the situation.

Because there is a situation.

There's a _big fucking situation._

He gets to his throne with its pretty good replication of tortured gargoyles and _what the fuck_ had he been thinking when he created this? But now is not the time to muse on rebellious teenage angst throne creations.

He spins and starts to pace in front of his seat in long-legged strides. Hands clenching into fists at his sides because he's imagining strangling every last one of his minions. And then all the _future_ minions he's going to recruit so they know _not to fuck up this badly_ right from the fucking start.

"Oh," he snaps, "like that _wasn't_ enough. No, of course it wasn't enough that Azazel's been avoiding us for decades – and we're not even going to get into how you people managed to fuck up his capture and removal so many times – what did you think he was on _holiday_ for thirty years? Just taking a quick _jaunt_ to see the fucking _sights?_ "

He doesn't think he's ever been so pissed off before.

That he can remember.

Sober.

He can practically _taste_ the italics in the conversation. One-sided rant. Whatever.

"But no, it's not enough, and it's definitely not enough that Azazel then _feeds his blood_ to humans to give them fucking demon powers and _how did we miss that?_ "

He whirls on his cowering minion who is holding up a clip-board in front of his face as if it will protect him. Thorn can only see red and he has _no idea_ what he looks like right now, but he _definitely_ doesn't feel human.

"But that isn't the worse!" He continues with a smile because every sarcastic and possibly explosive conversation needs to be had whilst wearing a smile. It doesn't matter if it's the most _terrifying smile in existence_ because that just adds to the ambiance of the sheer clusterfuck that has become his last year and a half, "Because not only did we _not_ manage to contain that situation – and possibly get some new recruits for the Hellchasers – but it _blew up in our fucking faces._ "

Thorn pauses when he realises that he's hyperventilating and takes a few calming breaths.

They don't work, so he ends up pacing again.

He thinks it's a test to his character that he's not pulling at his hair.

"No," he says, eyes wide until they're showing the white, "no, someone – some _moron_ – thinks it's a great idea to open the _Hell Gate_. And it's not just _any_ moron, it's one of the demon babies that _we didn't even know about._ "

" _The Hell Gate_." He repeats because he thinks it needs repeating. It doesn't seem enough so he brings his hands up and mimes strangling whatever bastard opened the fucking door in the first place. "The. Hell. Gate."

Thorn rubs his hand across his mouth. "Do you know how long it took to lock that place down? Fifteen years, that's how long. Fifteen _fucking_ years of working with that ornery bastard, Colt, and all that iron and for what?

" _For what?_ The only good thing that came out of that is Azazel is now _dead._ " He adds in an aside.

Thorn takes a deep breath and goes to sit in his fugly chair. He rubs at his temples, trying to make the migraine he's had for the past two months disappear.

It doesn't work so he conjures up a bottle of the strongest drink he can think of and takes a swig.

Screw being elegant with repose and a side of bad-assery. Those days were over when he realised what the fuck was going on and how everything he'd fought against had ganged up and slipped the rug from under his feet.

Fuck it.

He takes another longer drink and shotguns half the bottle.

If a minion doesn't respect him as much after all this is over then he'll just kill them and have it done with.

He's feeling a lot calmer after that.

"Apparently nothing," he answers his previous question, "because then _Lilith shows up._ "

Wow, that calm didn't last long at all.

"So then we had _Lilith_ fucking around up there, and did we stop her? No! Because apparently that's not what Hellchasers _do_ anymore!

"There should be a memo." He points at the minion who looks like he really, really doesn't want to be here and doesn't expect to live for very much longer, "You. Send out a memo reading: I would like to remind the Hellchasers that their job is to _catch and or kill fucking escaped demons_ and if they would kindly _do_ their _fucking jobs_ then clusterfucks of _this fucking magnitude_ won't happen."

He takes a long, deep breath through his nose. "But it doesn't even matter about Lilith anymore. Because as soon as we got our heads out of our asses and went to _do_ something about her, we find that she's already dead.

" _Dead!_

"And we have no clue who killed her, or why, or _how_ , which means that her little pet Alistair is going to be angry and completely uncontrollable now and _oh roasting pits of fire_ I hope he does not get out because if he does then we are so totally fucked it's unfunny.

"And, _and_ , now that smarmy bastard Crowley has taken over the throne and is acting like he's the king of hell or something, and there's a whole lot of demons swarming about on the surface that we're not even _making a dent in._

"Okay, new plan. I want to know what the fuck they're doing and what they're looking for and why. Hellchasers can kill as many of the bastards as they want but I want this information and I want it last year. Got that?

He gives up and runs a hand through his hair.

"Do you even know what this _means?_ " He asks plaintively, half-drunk bottle drooping between his fingers, "Do you know what this could possibly add up to?

"No, you don't, because you're just a minion and you don't know anything. I've spent _millennia_ making sure that my father has stayed locked in his little cage. Making sure that I've done whatever the fuck I could to upset his little plans and everything, _everything_ , is falling apart at the seams.

"There is no possible way that this day could get any worse."

The sight of his minion wincing has him freezing and sitting up straight.

"What?"

The man swallows and licks his lips, refusing to meet Thorn's eyes. "Um…"

Thorn grits his teeth. "What."

The man glances at him and says, "The angels are walking the earth." Really, really fast.

Thorn takes a few moments to separate the sentence out into working words. _Then_ he takes another few moments to rerun said sentence through his head to give it the opportunity to change.

It doesn't.

Thorn lets out a yell that gets progressively louder and throws the bottle across the room. It explodes mid-air sending shards of glass everywhere.

His minion finally gives up and makes a break for the door, leaving Thorn alone to rage.

###

Ruby is twitching slightly in her bindings.

Meg smirks as she circles the chair, her fingers trailing up Ruby's arm, across the back of her neck and to her other shoulder.

Ruby makes a pathetic whispering sound in the back of her throat and Meg's smile falls.

 _This_ pathetic bitch was Lilith's trusted second?

 _This_ was what they'd been left with?

Meg whirls around until she's facing Ruby. It doesn't do much good because Ruby's dropped her head and has her eyes closed, breathing heavily through her mouth.

Geez, demons these days, can't handle torture. A little bit of pain and they're jumping out of their meat suits like it's the titanic.

Meg was of the generation that believed in pain. And that if you couldn't handle being thrown off the top of a building then you didn't deserve being called a demon.

Her father trained her well.

Ruby, however, was always too human for Meg's likes. True, that was because she _used_ to be human, before she sold her soul. Not like Meg, Meg was born a demon.

But that's beside the point right now.

Meg crosses her arms across her chest and starts to tap her foot. "You know," she says conversationally, "I had high hopes for you."

Ruby whimpers again and it just pisses Meg off even more.

Meg smiles and crouches down in front of the hurt demon. Gently tipping up her chin so she can look Ruby in the eye.

"I mean," Meg says softly, "I admired Lilith, we _all_ admired Lilith.

"A bit brazen, a bit gung-ho. Nothing like the subtlety of _my_ father. But…well, we can't all be him now, can we?"

Ruby breathes in short, sharp bursts.

"But," Meg continues, "I admired her. She took her place and kept it. Despite everything. Despite Lucifer's capture. The Queen of the Crossroads. You don't get any higher than that and the fact that she managed to keep that for so long…well."

"W-what-" Ruby chokes out.

"But _you_ ," Meg says, standing suddenly and letting Ruby's chin drop, "you I was always wary about. Now, don't get me wrong, you're loyal to a fault. But you were always too _human_ for me."

Meg sighs and looks at Ruby in disappointment.

"I don't think you ever got the fine _details_ of what it is to be demon."

Meg starts to circle Ruby's chair again. Ruby tries to follow her, looking absolutely terrified for once.

Meg inwardly congratulates herself. She leans down until her mouth is right next to Ruby's ear and something dark squirms in her stomach when Ruby's breathing picks up.

"But that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about." Meg says.

Ruby flinches and swallows. "W-what…"

Meg moves back around until she's facing Ruby again.

"I want to know who has Dean Winchester's soul."

"I-I don't-" Ruby starts and is cut of sharply by a painful backhand.

"Don't." Meg says, and then smiles a tight smile. "Don't _lie_ to me Ruby. Not here, not now."

Ruby's trembling and Meg crouches down, shushing her and stroking the red mark imprinted on Ruby's cheek.

"Now, now. It's okay. You've learnt your lesson. Just tell me. I know you were there, watching your master. I know you saw what happened to her." Meg brushes away a tear that runs down Ruby's cheek.

"I know how painful it can be to watch something you love die."

Ruby lets out a breath that sounds like a sob and Meg hates her just a little bit more for it.

"There, there." She coos.

"Artemis." Ruby croaks out.

Meg freezes. She must have heard that wrong – she _had_ to have heard that wrong – but Ruby is still mumbling the name over and over again as if it will protect her from what Meg is about to do.

"Artemis. Greek goddess of the Hunt."

Ruby nods and just doesn't stop, her head bobbing, eyes staring at her lap again.

Meg looks at her with disgust for a moment. Then she stands and thinks.

Artemis and… _hunters_. Oh, she should have seen this _years_ ago.

If Artemis has gotten involved then that means Dean Winchester is now a _Dark Hunter_ and Meg can't just kill him straight off because then his soul will forever be lost to limbo.

And while that is a nice thought, it's not good enough for what he's done to her. It's not good enough for what he's done to her father and her brother.

Meg wants more than just the _knowledge_ that he's in pain for eternity. She wants to be the one who shoves her hands into his guts until she's buried elbow deep in his screams.

If Meg wants revenge, and oh does she, then she's going to have to get Dean's soul back into him before she kills him.

It's a good thing she knows _all_ about Dark Hunters and how they work, thank you Ias.

She pats Ruby absentmindedly on the head as she starts to plan out how this is going to go down.

Demons aren't allowed to possess the bodies of anything belonging to another pantheon. It's against the 'rules'. Humans, of course, are fair game. But that won't help her in this case. If she wants to get Dean's soul then she's going to have to get to Olympus and take it.

Good thing she's never really cared about the rules.

She glances down at Ruby to see Ruby staring at her.

Meg smiles. "You've done well. How would you like to work for me? I can't think too many demons are pleased with you for sending them back down here." Meg motions around them. "Even if it _was_ all part of the plan."

Ruby smiles hesitantly.

"Good," Meg says, and then motions behind her. Alistair steps out of the shadows and Ruby's face pales and she begins to scream and struggle against her bindings.

Meg ignores Ruby and steps up to Alistair, stroking across his chest. He stares down at her.

"We have a new recruit to the cause." Meg says, "Unfortunately her last master kept her soft." Meg's eyes harden as they meet Alistair's. "I have no room for a soft soldier."

Alistair smiles slowly and Meg pats him lightly.

"I'll leave you to it then."

Meg leaves and walks through the tunnels that have been mined deep into the bedrock of Hell itself.

Ruby's screams echo after her.

###

Meg doesn't have far to look. She finds a cluster of Nymphs in Italy enjoying the sun.

They're completely unprepared for her to attack their little group. Thinking themselves so safe because they're not human.

Meg scoffs at them as she runs her hands over her new body.

It's nice. Nicer than a human. And immortal, which is a nice bonus at the moment.

The other nymphs had scattered when the black cloud that is her demon form had boiled up from the ground. This nymph wasn't fast enough.

However, Meg isn't so cocky as to think that the Greek pantheon isn't going to be alerted as soon as possible.

Luckily, Meg's a demon and can appear anywhere she wants, rather than having to go the long way like the other quasi-immortals.

She rips through the mind of the nymph and takes the destination from her memories.

Lucky, the nymph is known to Artemis' handmaidens. This will make everything easier.

With a blink of her eyes, Meg is standing in the streets of Olympus.

The self-gratifying grandeur of the temples makes her nauseous.

If she could, she'd burn this place to the ground and watch these pathetic creatures run and panic below her.

But she can't. She has absolutely no delusions about her power level or who she's fucking with at the moment.

Speaking of, she doesn't have long left before the alarm is raised.

With single-minded purpose she enters Artemis' temple. There is only one handmaiden waiting in the receiving room. The rest of them must be outside in the fields. Meg knows that this is where they like to stay when Artemis isn't at home, because that's where this nymph usually hangs out with them.

The handmaiden looks up and graces Meg with a smile.

"I did not think we would be seeing you quite so soon-" she starts to say, before Meg slashes her throat open with her blade.

The handmaiden chokes and sinks to her knees, her eyes staring like she can't believe what Meg's just done.

Meg smiles and allows her eyes to turn black. "Night night." She says, enjoying the way the handmaiden's eyes widen in fear in her last few moments of life.

Meg takes a moment to admire the steadily spreading pool of red against the white marble, then she focuses on finding the soul.

She knows what Dean feels like, she's been with the brothers enough to have them memorised. But even so it takes a while for her to pick up the trace of him.

But she does.

Meg flashes her way to it and ends up in a bedroom decorated in red satin and drapes.

Dear Lucifer, do these people have no taste at all?

Dean's soul is in a basket of other souls. Meg has to seriously restrain herself but _Dean_ is the one she's come here for, so she reaches in and plucks him from his brothers.

Her hand hums and grows warm where it touches the soul but Meg's a demon in a nymph's body and not at all restricted like a human would be.

She wants to laugh at how easy it all is and, because she can't think of a reason not too, she does.

This is the exact moment a furious Artemis appears, screams and throws a god-bolt at her. But Meg's been expecting this and disappears back to Hell without much more than a thought.

Revenge will be hers.

###

Sam's been acting a lot better around Ash, and Dean thinks this is partly the reason Ash is hanging out with them more.

It could be to train _him_ , Dean supposes. But, other than telling him that Dean has some sort of power-sensing power on top of the other two, he hasn't really done very much.

There's probably a reason, but Dean can't work it out, and he doesn't really want to if he thinks on it. He's happy learning on his own. It's how he was taught to hunt and Dean has the feeling Ash knows that and is helping him along in the only way he knows how.

Or Dean might be reading _way_ too much into that situation.

Dean's teasing Sam, who's pouting pretty hard, about his nerdy habits when Ash says, laughing "You know, one of these day's these things are going to catch up with you and you'll regret ever teasing your brother."

"Yeah," Sam says, raising his chin and crossing his arms, "exactly."

Dean rolls his eyes and gets back to teasing both of them for that because he's the older brother, and that's what he does.

He probably should have taken Ash's warning to heart though, because not a minute later there's a crackling and a freaking _hole_ appears in the middle of the street and twelve daimons step through, lining up like they're in some sort of army parade.

"Strati." Ash murmurs beside him.

Dean thinks that tonight is not going to get any better.

Actually, he's sure that it's going to get a lot worse.


	10. December 10th

Dean stares at the daimons, perplexed.

They're not doing anything. They're not even tensing or getting ready to fight which, apparently, should be the norm for them. Well, according to Ash and whatever Sam's managed to get into his head anyway.

Because the only first-hand knowledge Dean has of them is from the alley scuffle, and he's not very impressed with the whole idea of daimons being the scourge of the earth from _that_.

In fact, despite daimons munching on human souls, Dean thinks that he's gone up against far worse things.

 _These_ daimons seem to be different though, more like warriors. That is if warriors were decided by height and muscle definition as they're   
_all taller than Dean_ and how is that fair? Dean thinks that he's going to develop a complex about his height sooner or later because, while he's taller than most, ever since he died he's been surrounded by giants.

They're all ridiculously blond as well.

And all men which, Dean thinks, is hardly making a dint in the gender-equality and _oh my god_ he's been hanging around Sam too much.

That's it. As soon as they're done kicking these daimons asses he's going to get his own bedroom.

He sounds like a petulant teenager.

Dean doesn't really care.

But there's something wrong. These daimons aren't really doing anything. Still.

They're just standing there.

They haven't even bent their knees like they're bracing for an attack or preparing to pounce or _anything_.

Dean thinks that maybe he should be insulted by that. That these twelve men think that he's not worth the bother of preparing to fight. That he can be taken out so easily by a rookie move or something.

Dean knows that he hasn't been a dark hunter long, but he knows how to fight.

And he _definitely_ knows how to whoop monster asses. And by that he means take them out and or kill them. He doesn't get freaky with them. Unless they're possibly hot chicks. Or succubi or something because _man_ -

Okay. Off topic.

 _Way_ off topic.

And the daimons hadn't even taken advantage of his wandering mind! Okay. Definitely pissed off now.

Dean reaches to the small of his back where he's been keeping a wicked looking knife ever since the first run in with a daimon and the subsequent death of Sandy.

The metal almost _hums_ in his hand and if Dean wasn't absolutely sure, he would have thought that this was another of his powers. But it's not, because it's always been like this. He's always been good with a knife, especially when facing something that needs to die.

He should probably be worried about that, Dean thinks, about how the cold steel practically talks to him, telling him where to strike for a killing blow.

But honestly, he doesn't know if that's because he was raised a hunter, and it's his finely tuned instincts that are whispering to him, or not.

If this was another life, then Dean doesn't know if what the FBI was saying about him would be all that wrong. Except, _yes they would_ because while Dean knows how to hunt and to kill, he'd _never_ go after an innocent.

Hell, he puts his life at risk every single day since before he even knew what _girls_ were to keep them safe.

He does this for a reason. He has to keep reminding himself of that.

There's a purpose, a higher purpose, which he's playing to here. And Dean has the feeling that he's playing blind right now, but it'll all be okay in the end.

And maybe it's this realisation, or maybe it's the silent conversation he had with Sandy, but for the first time in over twenty years, Dean feels like he isn't so alone anymore. That there's something watching over him, keeping him safe.

Which is ridiculous because Dean already _knows_ this. Ash is standing right beside him, futilely trying to push Sam to safety behind him.

Dean snorts in amusement but doesn't take his eyes off the Strati as Ash called them.

Yeah, Ash'll need a whole lot of luck to keep Sam where he wants him.

"Dean." Sam says as he steps up next to his brother, his own weapon in hand and _oh man_ is Dean glad this is an empty street because with the kinds of things being brandished about right now there is no doubt in Dean's mind that they'd be arrested for sure.

Even so, Dean finds it funny that even Ash can't keep his brother wrapped up tight in cotton wool.

Yeah, because Dean and his father learnt the hard way that what Sam wants, Sam does and there's no force in heaven or hell that can keep it from him.

And, just to make sure that the odds are even, the same goes for Dean in relation to Sam.

Dean can't help the grin, nor the quick glance over to Ash to see him wearing a bitch-face.

It's subtle, but it's there.

Dean wonders if maybe he should separate Sam and Ash because they're obviously learning bad habits from each other and _oh god_ why does Dean classify Ash as another annoying little brother?

It's wrong on so many levels. Dean doesn't need another younger brother. He's had his hands full for that last twenty odd years dealing with Sam.

In fact, he's still dealing with Sam now so yeah, no more younger brothers needed thanks.

Only it doesn't seem like anyone up there is paying attention because Dean automatically steps forward in front of both Sam and Ash, taking point and drawing the Strati's attention to him instead of the two giants behind him.

It's kind of a miracle but Dean isn't going to complain.

The movement also seems to break whatever relaxed thing the daimons have going for them as they finally tense, pulling out their weapons. They hold them casually, but Dean can see the competence in their movements.

These aren't like the daimon he's already faced. These are warriors and they know what they're doing.

And, if what Ash and Sam have told him is correct, and these are immortal, then they've had who knows how many years to practice.

Dean almost feels inadequate for a moment.

But he's been outnumbered by things with more power than him before and he's won out then. He'll do so again.

Mainly because he doesn't know how to fail.

And everything that _seems_ like failing is just a tactical retreat.

Losing battles and winning wars and all that.

One of the daimons from the middle of the group steps forward a little and nods at Dean. "Dark Hunter." He says conversationally.

Dean doesn't know what kind of game they're playing but it's a rare occurrence for the bad guys to be polite. He raises his chin and an eyebrow.

"Scum sucker." Dean replies.

The leader chuckles and Dean's grip on his knife tightens for a brief moment.

"Now, now." He says, pulling out his own knife in retaliation, "there's no need for name calling. What kind of manners did your mother teach you?"

Dean doesn't even bother to respond. He just leaps forward, weapon in hand, ready to do as much damage as he possibly can.

The daimons surge forward to meet him halfway and Dean has the impression of one soul, split twelve times and the most ridiculous 'I am Legion' quote echoes in his head, before metal striking metal jars his hand.

Then he's left with impressions.

It's loud. Daimons are yelling and Sam and Ash are snarking back but Dean can't pick out individual words. It's all blurring into one mess of continual sound and he doesn't know why no one else is coming to investigate this or why he can't here cop cars because _surely_ someone else can here this.

And there's gold.

So much gold.

From swirling hair – and _why_ did daimons have to have such long hair anyway? To the light glinting off their armour, to the clouds of dust they explode into when one of Dean's team get in a lucky shot.

Dean catches a swipe with his blade that would have taken out his eyes and kicks the daimon in the crotch.

Hey, no one said he had to play nice.

The daimon curls over in a grunt of pain - guess that hurts no matter what you were – just in time to see Sam shoot another one in the chest with a shotgun.

Dean has no idea where Sam got a shotgun from.

The daimon explodes so Dean doesn't worry about it too much. Other than the fact that Sam is now in the thick of it and has drawn attention to himself and Dean doesn't have his back.

Bit like normal then, really.

Honestly, Dean doesn't know how Sam ever managed four years alone at college without anything happening to him because he's a freaking _trouble magnet._

Dean knows. Sam usually drags him into his things and then they become _Dean's_ things. And _then_ Dean has to deal with it because that's _what he does_.

And Sam doesn't even notice half the time.

Not the _oh holy crap things are trying to eat me_. Or the _woo! Dean's here to save the day again!_

But just the general _whoops, this is all my fault. My bad, Dean. I'll buy you a truck-load of pie to make up for it._

God, if that actually happened, Dean thinks that the apocalypse will happen.

Dean gets so caught up in his imaginings that he drops his guard for a moment and a daimon decides to take a lucky shot at him.

It's the leader, the one who seems to know who Dean is. He's crouching, under Dean's practically non-existent guard and springing up, knife flashing in the streetlights.

Dean can only think _oh fuck_ when the daimon halts mid-thrust.

His eyes widen and Dean has absolutely no clue why until there's a bright flash of light and _another_ guy decides to join the party out of freaking _mid-air._

Seriously, one moment there's nothing next to Dean, the next there's a guy in a _trench coat_ standing protectively in front of him with a punishing grip on the daimons wrist.

The daimon is looking terrified so Dean has no idea what the guys face must look like, but if it can inspire that level of terror then he's not sure he wants the man to turn around.

Even if he did save him.

"No." The man says and Dean finds another reason to be grateful that the man isn't looking at him, because if he was then he would have seen the shiver that crawls down Dean's spine at the sound of his voice.

Totally inappropriate thoughts in the middle of battle are inappropriate.

Dean doesn't have long to muse on said inappropriate thoughts because he's suddenly watching the daimon going flying backwards, out past Ash – who just _decimates_ two other daimons with some sort of force field.

Dean's just sort of staring in bemusement at the flight path of the air born daimon, when the guy turns to face Dean at last.

Dean chokes.

And really, he has a right to choke because that whole power-sensing ability is kicking in pretty well. The man is strong. And not just strong in the way he blasted a guy across the street. Strong in the level of power kind of way.

Electricity crackles in the air and across Dean's tongue. His breath starts to come in short pants as he fights against the pressure of all that power.

The man is also glowing.

From the inside out, like his body can't contain the light. Dean can barely see a set of clear blue eyes staring at him because of it.

And he has wings.

Can't forget about the wings.

"Dean Winchester." The man says quietly, like they're not standing in the middle of a fight.

"Uh, yeah?" Because Dean's _smooth_ like that.

The man frowns and for a moment Dean thinks he looks lost. He glances around as if he's just now noticed that Ash and Sam are kicking ass and taking daimon names.

"I-" He starts, and then his eyes fall on Dean's tattoo and widen dramatically. The power around him flares brighter and Dean can see his wings flutter in surprise.

He opens his mouth and then closes it with a snap. Then, with one last look thrown in Dean's direction, disappears again.

Dean stands there, shaken. Dean can't be sure, but he thinks that the guy was _betrayed_ by Dean's tattoo.

Which means…Dean has no idea what it means. Also, not really the time to be thinking about it.

He turns his attention back to the fight to see that it's already ended.

Ash and Sam are standing close by. Ash looks perfect as usual, but Sam's panting like he's just run a marathon. They still have their weapons up so Dean glances over to what they're staring at.

There's another hole in the air and the daimons have gathered on the other side. Well, what's left of them anyway.

Seems like Ash and Sam had been busy while Dean was having his brain stop and start by a knight in pearly glowing wings.

"What? No encore?" Dean asks with a smirk.

The leader, who looked pretty good for being blasted across the street, smiles "Unfortunately not." He says with an elegant shrug.

"What?" Dean says, "That's a bit disappointing, I'd've thought that you'd put up more of a fight than this."

The daimon shrugs again. "We don't need to fight anymore. We were just the distraction. Have fun at the hospital."

The bolthole closes with a crackle, but not before Dean notices the leader sending him a searching look.

Dean can't be bothered about that though, because distraction means there was _another_ attack that they'd completely missed. And that comment about the hospital…

Dean checks Sam and Ash to find them mostly unhurt – just a few bumps and bruises.

Fuck. They've attacked the hospital.

Sam seems to have worked it out too, as he's turned to Dean with a tortured expression in his eyes.

"Dean!"

"I know!" Dean snaps back because _Jesus Christ_ he hates smart enemies.

He doesn't know what he's going to do as the Impala is still parked outside their apartment, probably _run_ to the hospital, when Ash grabs an arm.

With a blink of his eyes, Dean finds himself standing in the lobby of the hospital. Or at least he thinks it's the hospital because it looks more like a warzone.

 _Jesus._

There's screaming and panicking humans everywhere, huddling together and running out the front door. In the distance Dean can hear sirens getting louder and louder but they're not close enough and they're probably not going to get here in time.

Nurses and doctors are helping some of the patients that can move out of the building. But it's hard going as the floor and walls are literally painted with blood. And Dean can _taste_ it every time he breathes in. It's lying thick across his tongue and the back of his throat and he wants to gag. Wants to claw at his mouth until he can't taste death.

Dean can see people with their throats, among other things, torn out. Some of them are still twitching and people are helping. It doesn't seem to matter if they're in the medical profession or not – if they can stand and are uninjured they're helping.

"Oh God," Sam chokes out beside him.

"Fuck." Dean says and wonders how many daimons are currently loose in the building. And, for that matter, where they all _are_ because they're not here right not.

There's a long, high-pitched scream from deeper in the building and Dean takes an abortive step forward. His foot skids a little and he refuses to look down to see what he's just stepped in, even though he's got a pretty good idea anyway.

"Okay, split up." Ash says quickly, taking charge. "Dean, you're on your own. Sam you're with me."

To his credit, Sam doesn't even complain at not being with Dean. He just nods and hefts the shotgun higher.

"After you." He says to Ash.

Ash nods to Dean and jogs down a corridor, Sam following.

Dean decides to go up and eyes the lift warily before taking the stairs.

###

Upstairs isn't any better.

In fact, it's a whole lot worse.

After Dean checks the third room, only to find people literally torn apart in their beds, he stops.

He just can't handle seeing that.

Instead he trusts his sensing ability to lead him to the nearest daimon. It turns out there's a group of three of them, struggling to get into a room.

Dean's momentarily confused until he moves closer and sees that a doctor is standing in the doorway and is beating them back with whatever she can get her hands on.

There are children crying behind her.

She's torn up and Dean has no idea how long she's been protecting the kids, but she's wearing the most viciously beautiful snarl on her face and is yelling a stream of continual abuse and challenges at the daimons.

The daimons are snarling back, but they've been unable to pass her so far and she's even managed to deal them a little damage.

Dean thinks that he maybe falls in love with her a little bit.

One of the daimons seems to get fed up with the lack of progress and he charges her, tackling her to the floor and clearing the way for his brothers to enter the room.

The woman screams in defiance and starts to beat at his face, refusing to let go, even when he sinks his fangs into her neck.

The children start to scream in earnest. A thin high-pitched wailing of terror.

Dean sees red pretty quickly and, without even thinking about it, his knife is out and flashing. He plunges it into the inkspot of one of the daimons without them even noticing he was there. It explodes in a cloud of gold which draws the attention of the second one who lets out a yell and jumps at Dean.

Dean can't bring his knife up quickly enough but rolls with the tackle and comes out straddling the man. He quickly stabs down before the daimon can think to buck him off and the second turns to dust beneath him.

Dean turns to see the third clambering off the doctor, wiping its mouth on the back of its hand.

Dean feels sick, but then the doctor twitches a little and chokes.

"Dark hunter." It says as it begins to smirk.

Dean ignores him and now it's his turn to launch himself across the corridor. The daimon looks startled at the sudden movement but quickly rallies round and meets Dean halfway.

The fight is quick and brutal and Dean pumps most of his rage into it, so he's not very shocked when the daimon explodes into gold in front of him. But he hardly has time to feel happy about it because he's running to the doorway and skidding to his knees.

The doctor is still alive, pressing a hand to her wound to try and staunch the bleeding.

The daimon wasn't neat and she seems to know it. It's all there in her eyes as Dean presses his hand against her neck as well.

She chokes and mouths something, but Dean can't hear or make it out and then she's dead and Dean _doesn't know what she was trying to say._

He swallows the lump in his throat and looks into the room. Ten eyes stare back from young faces aged between six and twelve.

Fuck.

The kids ward.

They're huddled together and pale and tear-stained but one of the older ones is standing a little way in front of the others, holding a pen tightly in his hand as a weapon. He's blond and green-eyed and Dean flash-backs to himself so hard that he doesn't notice someone at the other end of the hall until they're moving towards him.

He springs to his feet, body tense, and knife slipping in his hand, with only one thought going through his mind. _Protect the kids._

But it's Sam. Sam's there. He's come up the other set of staircases with Ash and Dean feels relieved so much that his vision almost blacks out. But there's a flutter, and Dean sees wings out of the corner of his eye.

His stomach flips when he thinks it might be the man again, but no. This time it's a woman, draped in white and looking straight at Dean with sorrow in her eyes.

Dean blinks and glances to Sam, to see if he's spotted the woman and knows what she is because she seems familiar but Dean can't place her right now, but Sam is still heading towards him.

And then Sam's face falls and his eyes widen and he's yelling out Dean's name. But Dean can't concentrate because there's a stabbing pain in his chest and the children are screaming again.

He gasps and looks down, to see what the problem is, and has to blink a few times because there is a knife piercing his heart.


	11. December 11th

Dean knows what she is now.

The woman that is. With the wings.

She's a reaper.

Dean is going to die. Or is dying. Fuck if he knows.

Only yes, yes he _does_ know because the knife is sharp and cold and he can feel his heart stuttering around it, trying to beat. It's failing.

The knife has also pierced his lung because it's suddenly getting hard to breathe and blood bubbles across his lips when he does manage.

Dean takes a shaking breath and looks behind him.

There's a woman there, smiling like she's just won everything. Well, Dean thinks she's a woman, but there's something off about her – like she's not actually human. But before he can figure out what she is his powers start to fade.

"Hi, Dean." She says brightly. "Guess you never thought you'd see me again."

Dean stares at her, uncomprehendingly, and she pouts which is so, _so_ wrong.

"Aw, Dean, you don't remember me?"

Dean doesn't.

He doesn't even think he _should_ because he's pretty sure-

"It's me," She says, "Meg." Her smile turns vicious, "What's wrong? Thought I was hiding after you killed my father? Thought I'd died?"

Dean opens his mouth to tell her that she can kiss his ass but before he can she yanks the knife out of his chest, giving it a sneaky little half-twist, and the breath that he _had_ managed to take whooshes out of him.

"That's not very nice, Dean." She says, like he'd actually managed to tell her how much he hates her.

Dean can't concentrate on this though. His vision is turning black and his knees crumple but Meg's there and guiding him down gently to the floor, shushing him. Like a mother to a kid with a scraped knee.

It's wrong on so many levels.

She leans close to his ear and whispers, "It's alright, Dean. I've got you. I'm here. I'll make it _all_ better. Then we can play."

Dean shivers. But he's not sure if it's because of her voice – there's no way she's human – or if it's because he's suddenly very, very cold.

Meg pats him lightly on the chest, right on the hole, and his body jerks at the pain. She smoothed her other hand across his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Dean's staring at her, wide eyed. He knows he is and he knows he doesn't want to be but with the knife out of his chest he's bleeding out a lot faster. His chest and back are warm, from the blood, but it's not warming _him_.

"Close your eyes, Dean." She says, "You'll wake up a better person."

Dean refuses and tries to tell her that she can shove it, only his mouth's not working and he's not even sure he's able to mouth the words at her.

She smirks. She knows it too.

Dean tries to concentrate, but everything is kind of soupy and far away. He blinks a few times, as if this will settle everything. There's a rhythmic pounding and Dean thinks it might be his heart, only is heart is kind of broken at the moment so it can't be that.

It's Sam.

Dean can hear Sam pounding his way down the corridor towards him.

He hopes that Sam finally kills Meg. If he's allowed a dying wish, this is what it would be.

The world fades to black completely and sound drains from it.

This is what dying feels like.

Huh, he would've thought he'd be fighting this more. But then, Dean didn't really expect this, and there's no Artemis to come save him this time.

Something hot presses against his throat and that's about the moment that he finally fades.

###

Sam can't breathe.

He can't breathe and the light is too bright and Dean's blood is too red and the corridor is _too fucking long._

And worst of all, a stranger is crouching next to his brother pressing something small and round against Dean's throat.

He's going to kill her.

Sam doesn't even care anymore. He's been through too much and he's going to kill the bitch that has just stuck a knife through Dean's chest in front of Sam – like Dean wasn't anything. Like Sam hadn't prayed for the last year to someone or something to keep Dean alive. Like his prayers hadn't been answered – albeit unconventionally.

Sam's almost there and he discards his shotgun – throwing it to the side because he doesn't want to hit Dean. Not when there's a chance that Dean could be brought back.

Ash is here. Ash can save him.

Except then he feels strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him back.

He struggles. God, he struggles. But the arms are like granite and nothing he does can shift them. He still strains forward though, yelling for Dean because his brother is _dying_. His brother is lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood and that's _Dean's_ blood on the floor. That's _Dean's_ blood that's soaking into his clothes and _god damn it_ why can't he _move?_

He struggles and doesn't take his eyes off his brother, but he does hear a voice start filtering through.

It's Ash.

Ash is saying _No, Sam_ and _don't interrupt_ and _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this is all my fault._

And Sam want's to scream and shout and ask _why! Why can't he save Dean, why can't he interrupt the woman who's just stuck a knife through his brother_ and _why is it all Ash's fault_ when he saw, he watched his brother crumple on the woman's knife.

There's a high pitched keening noise that Sam belatedly realises is coming from him.

Then it's like someone's cut all his tendons because he sags in Ash's grip and crumples to the floor in a mock parody of his brother's death.

Ash goes down with him. He's pressed completely against Sam's back, like he can anchor him to this time, this moment.

A small part of Sam knows that Ash is doing this for a reason. That there's something going on here that he doesn't understand.

That it's a really bad idea to interrupt whatever's happening.

He knows this because Ash has never lied to him. Ash has always put up with his annoying questions and phone calls at all times of the day.

Ash has never brushed him off. At all. And Sam's grateful for that. More than he first realised because Ash is like the best friend he's never had that wasn't his brother or Jess.

And Sam _needs_ that. Needed it before he even realised he did.

So he knows Ash has his reasons. He _knows_.

But Sam's still stuck on seeing his brother gasping for breath and watching as Dean's chest hitches once, twice and then lets out a rattle as Dean seems to collapse in on himself.

Sam's crying.

He knows. He can feel it hot against his cheeks.

And Ash is still talking to him, mouth pressed against his ear, rocking them slightly.

"It's alright Sam." He's whispering, "It's alright. I'm so sorry. He's not dead yet. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. He's not dead yet, trust me. Please, please, please. He's not. She has his soul. That's his soul. It's an out-clause. He's not dead."

And "Gods I'm sorry. Not again, not again, not again. Don't hate me, Sam. Not again. Please, I don't think I can take this again. He's not dead. He's not. Trust me, Sam. Trust me, please, Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam."

Sam twitches. He wants to trust. Wants to sink back into Ash's embrace but he _can't_ because he can't relax and stop and he's sobbing because _it's happening again._

"Stop," Sam croaks out, surprised at himself, "Please stop."

Ash falls silent, his mouth still pressed against Sam's ear.

But Sam can't find the time to say – _it's not you I'm talking to Ash, it's her. It's her, it's her, it's her. Don't stop Ash. You're everything. I can't concentrate. Don't let me go. Don't let me fall. Don't leave me here with my brother's corpse. Not again. Not again, not again, not again._

Instead Sam brings his hands up and grips Ash's wrist. Trying to show that he wasn't talking to _him_ whilst saying "Please, stop." And, "Why? Why are you doing this?"

The woman looks up and she smiles.

 _Smiles._

Like she hasn't just killed Dean in front of him.

"Aw, Sammy." She says, "I get a new body and nobody knows me? I'm shocked and a little hurt."

And then her eyes turn black and Sam _knows._

"Meg," he chokes out.

Meg's smile widens. "There now," she says, like he's just worked out a huge problem, "that wasn't so hard was it?"

Sam wants to scream at her. But then there's a choking noise and Dean's chest is rising again, taking in deep gulps of air, and Dean's coughing out mouthfuls of blood.

Sam's keening, but Ash is still holding onto him tightly.

Meg pushes herself back, keeping out of the way as Dean rolls onto his side, coughing and spitting and gasping.

He's alive.

Dean's alive.

He's alive, he's alive, he's alive.

Ash was right.

Sam tightens his grip on Ash's wrist, trying to convey _thank you_ and _I trust you_ and _I've always trusted you._

Dean's pushing himself to his knees and Sam can't look away.

Dean looks at his hands, then at his chest. He touches the hole in his shirt with a look of shock on his face and Sam grins. He grins so widely that he can feel his cheeks start to cramp because his brother is here and hasn't been taken.

Then Dean looks up at him. Dean's eyes are wide but there's hope there – Sam can see it. There's also shock and Sam can see Dean trembling from here. But he knows when he'll point it out that Dean will say it's from blood loss, not from anything else.

"What the hell?" Dean breathes out, "What the hell?"

And Sam wants to laugh because that's so like Dean.

But Meg's been too quiet.

Sam doesn't even get a moment's warning before Meg's there – _right there_ – behind Dean and that knife is flashing again.

Dean's eyes widen but he doesn't break his gaze with Sam.

And Dean's choking again. Choking on blood. His blood.

There's a line running across his throat, and then a sheet of red that cascades down his front.

Sam chokes along with him.

Then Dean is falling forwards, his hand outstretched to Sam, and he's lying on the floor and he's not moving and Sam doesn't know what to do.

Sam's cold. He's too cold and how? Why?

Ash is frozen behind him as well.

They're all frozen and there's no sound and its like time has stopped and _why isn't Dean moving._

Then Meg shifts and everything is brought back into focus. Sam can only watch, in shock, as she stands and brushes at her knees. As if she can brush off the blood trickling down her shins.

"Well," she says, "that was fun."

And Sam _screams._

He screams and screams and screams and yells and strains forward. And through it all Meg just smirks at him and looks down at him condescendingly.

Sam wants Ash to let go. Sam wants to get his hands on Meg.

He's not sure what he'll do. Probably tear her apart with his bare hands. But he wants her. He wants to hurt her so badly he can taste blood.

Only that's not his blood. It's Dean's.

He can taste Dean's blood in his mouth because the corridor is practically full of it.

And then he's gagging and retching because he can _taste his brother's death_.

Meg rolls her eyes, "Oh do shut up. You knew this was coming. Did you think that we'd just let you get away with breaking the deal and not pay the price?" she scoffs, "Be reasonable Sam."

Sam really, really wants to kill her.

Meg looks behind him, at Ash, and her eyes are still black. "You won't be able to bring him back." She says, "His soul is in hell, as per the contract. It's fulfilled and you can't take one step in there.

"Dean is _ours_."

Her eyes flick to Sam again and she shows her teeth. "I'm going to have fun playing with him."

And then she's gone and Sam is left alone.

Ash's arms finally move and Sam slumps forward, landing heavily on his forearms. He wants to crawl forward. Wants to crawl to Dean and curl up beside him and know that Dean is just asleep and if Sam nudges him then he'll wake up.

He'll wake and grumble and then protect Sam against the monsters out there.

But he can't. Sam can't make himself because he knows that Dean's gone. Gone for good this time. And he can't get there and touch Dean and find him dead.

He bows his head and sobs.

He wants it to be over now. Only it isn't and it can't be and he won't let it end like this. Sam just needs a moment.

And then Sam realises that he's not the only one that's crying. And when he turns to look he finds children in the room Dean just died outside of.

So Sam gets up.

He stands and staggers over, his feet slipping in Dean's blood, falling to his knees a few times. He stands and goes over to the children and Ash follows.

And then they get the children out of the building because that's what Sam does. That's what he's been trying to do all his life.

Save innocents.

Only this time he has to step over the cooling body of his brother to do so.

Sam refuses to look down or focus on anything that isn't getting the kids to safety because he can't handle anything else right now. And he knows that if he stops to think about it then he's going to break down, right here and now, and there are people counting on him to stay strong.

There are still daimons in the building, and Sam needs to get the children to safety, and there are daimons and the children are unsafe, and-

Ash's hand brings him out of it and he blinks to find himself in the foyer.

There's a lot less screaming and it looks like the police and other emergency services have arrived finally.

The children make a break for the door when they see it and Sam wants to follow. Wants to just leave and go home and wake up and see Dean sleeping the bed next to him.

He chokes.

Ash is still there, hesitant, but Sam can't look at him right now.

There's a voice in the back of Sam's head saying _you're in shock, you're in shock, you're in shock_ over and over again.

Then Ash's hand is on his back, burning between his shoulder blades, and Sam starts to shake.

Ash makes a pained noise and pulls Sam to him, wrapping his arms around him. And Sam finds his face pressed against Ash's shoulder and his arms wrapping around Ash's waist.

There's a lurch and the next time Sam looks up he's not in the hospital any more. He's not even in the apartment. He's in a huge room with a wall of television and a throne.

And Dean's body is lying on the floor.

Whatever Ash's done has cleaned him up. Dean is wearing his favourite t-shirt and jeans and his throat isn't gaping like a second mouth anymore.

Dean looks like he's sleeping.

And that makes it all the worse because he's not.

He's never going to wake up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's part is supposed to be all long, run on sentences and broken grammar to show his shock. It's probably annoying to read, but if you're reading this note then you've already read it so...ha. :P


	12. December 12th

It's later when Sam raises his head from Ash's shoulder.

He isn't sure what time it is, or how long he's been standing there, because there isn't any windows and he can't find the energy to raise his arm to look at his watch.

It's late though. Sam can tell because his eyes are killing him and his head's all woolly. It's the same type of reaction he normally gets after too much fighting and not enough sleep. Usually he and Dean would be on the road by now, the Impala's engine purring beneath the hood as it ate up the miles between hunt and home.

Or it could be really early instead, seeing as how they'd been working at night thanks to Dean's new fatal reaction to sunlight...

Sam's throat closes at the thought of Dean hurt, and he presses his face against Ash's shoulder again. Ash's collarbone pushing against his eyes, stopping the tears.

Or maybe it isn't that late at all and Sam is just tired because of…well, because of everything. He thinks that he has the right to be tired. To be exhausted after what's just happened.

Sam clutches Ash's t-shirt tighter, feeling the warm cotton between his fingers covering the solid strength of Ash's back.

The shirt by his face is wet, and Sam thinks that maybe he should be ashamed that he's just cried his heart out on his friends shoulder. But he's feeling very detached at the moment. Like he's floating and there's nothing to tether him.

It's almost the same feeling he gets when he's wounded and loses too much blood. But he's not hurt.

Not physically, at least.

And he quite likes this floaty feeling. It makes it harder to think about stuff, or care when he knows he should be caring…

It's a welcome relief.

As long as he doesn't think about…

About Dean.

Distantly, he can feel his breathing picking up. He's also trembling, or at least he thinks he is. It's hard to tell because suddenly his brain doesn't really want to work all that much.

Ash smooth's his hand down Sam's back, straight down his spine, and it brings Sam out of it for a few moments. Sam relaxes into it, feeling his muscles uncoil one by one until it's hard to keep his knees from buckling.

He sags in Ash's arms.

Belatedly, he worries that he's too heavy. That Ash won't be able to keep him standing. But Ash is a lot stronger than he's given the guy credit for, as he takes Sam's weight like it's nothing.

Sam lets out a huff of breath and closes his eyes. Grateful to Ash for being here. For providing a distraction so he doesn't have to _think…_

###

Sam wakes who knows how long later. It could be minutes or hours because the room hasn't changed.

Well, the light in the room hasn't changed. Sam's pretty sure the room didn't have a double bed in it before.

He's not alone on it either. Ash is right next to him. He's staring up at the ceiling and looking like he's lost in his own world. Or trapped in his own memories.

They look painful.

Sam doesn't know what it's all about or why Ash is lying still and allowing Sam to cling to him like an octopus in his sleep. But Sam does know about painful memories and regret.

He also knows how much it helps to be brought out of them by a friendly face.

Or, at least if not friendly, than familiar.

Sam hopes that Ash will see him as a friendly face though. Something hurts in his gut at the thought of Ash not really caring.

Even if that _is_ patently ridiculous after everything that's happened since the deal with Lilith got postponed.

Sam gently tries to untangle himself. It's hard going seeing as how he's somehow _plastered_ himself against Ash and tangled the sheets around them until they're practically cocooned. Sam's also managed to sneak his arm under Ash's pillow.

Man, it hasn't been this awkward since the first time he slept with Jess. Luckily she thought it was cute that he cuddled in his sleep.

Sam had been mortified. He'd been fresh off the hunting life, having only left two months previously. He was supposed to be gruff and manly and not a closet, unconscious snuggler.

Any chance he has of waking Ash carefully gets shot to hell when he tries to extract his arm from underneath Ash's head.

Ash jerks and turns to face Sam, his eyes wild. Sam also notices that their fingers are laced together when Ash squeezes hard enough that Sam feels his bones creak.

He manfully withholds his wince as he knows Ash didn't mean to hurt him. Probably doesn't even have a clue he did in the first place.

Plus, he knows how bad Ash feels when something goes bad on his account. Sam isn't going to add to whatever Ash is feeling right now because his hand got squeezed too tight when he startled his friend.

Sam doesn't move and slowly Ash calms down, his grip loosening and his breathing slowing. The wild look in his eyes dims until they're just staring into each other's eyes. Waiting for the other to make a move.

It's not going to be Sam though. He's too mesmerised by Ash's eyes. Swirling silver. They look like moonlight on a sawn off shotgun. He's never seen anything like them.

Or anything so beautiful.

Without thinking Sam reaches forward and strokes Ash's cheekbone, right under his left eye.

Ash flinches like he's just been punched in the face and turns to stare at the ceiling. A pair of sunglasses manifest on his face.

"I'm sorry," Ash croaks.

Sam frowns and doesn't say anything. He's trying to work out why Ash is sorry.

If anything, it should be _Sam_ who's sorry. Seeing as how he just broke down on Ash, then fell asleep on his shoulder. Then _cuddled_ him in said sleep for who knows how long.

Yeah, Sam has a lot he needs to apologise for.

Ash must take his silence for something else, other than complete and utter confusion, because he turns back to Sam and his face is twisted with grief.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I really, really am." Ash's voice breaks at the end and Sam feels his heart break just that little bit more. He didn't even know it _could_ after Dean. But seeing Ash in pain over something Sam just isn't getting hits him hard.

Sam feels like he's failing Ash for not understanding.

It's really hard to judge what Ash is thinking though, when Sam can't see his eyes and take clues. So Sam reaches forward and then hesitates when Ash stills.

Slowly, so Ash has more than enough time to pull away if this is really bothering him, Sam slips the sunglasses off Ash's face.

Ash is staring at him with hunted eyes.

Sam doesn't pay attention. He's too busy showing Ash that he doesn't care about…whatever was supposed to have made him care.

He folds up the sunglasses and twists, dropping them on the bed behind him. Then he turns back to Ash.

"So," Sam says, and then has to clear his throat because even _he_ didn't understand what he just said.

"So," Sam says again, and this time it comes out more human, rather than grief worn. "What are you sorry about?"

Ash blinks.

"For…Dean."

Sam winces. Hearing Dean's name spoken by someone else hits him hard in the chest and he's unprepared at the feeling of having a hole ripped through him.

He curls up, but seeing as Ash is still lying on his arm, he ends up curling around Ash instead.

Ash tenses even more, if that was possible, and stops breathing for a short while.

It's worrying and it gives Sam something else to focus on rather than the feeling of half of him being missing.

"What…what about-" Sam's throat closes before he can say Dean's name.

Ash's face crumples. "It's all my fault." He whispers, "Just like before."

And okay, yeah. Sam's gone through a lot. A fucking lot in the last how many hours, days, weeks, months, years. But this?

Nope, he doesn't understand this.

"It's…your fault?" He asks, his confusion overruling his grief for the moment. He says it slowly, like it'll give it more time to make sense if he does.

It doesn't.

"I…I brought this on him." Ash admits.

Sam's lips thin. Then he says, "Yeah, still not getting it. Sorry. How?"

Ash flinches and turns away. Or at least he tries to because Sam brings his face back around until he can see what's flashing in his friends eyes. Dear gods, he needs cue cards for this conversation.

Ash doesn't resist. And when he's facing Sam again he tilts his chin, like he's preparing for a blow. Like he expects Sam to hit him or attack him or something.

Sam doesn't want to hit Ash. But he's thinking about maybe hitting the persons responsible for Ash expecting it.

Because Ash does expect it. Sam can see it in the way he tenses his muscles. Sam can also see that Ash is used to it. Used to abuse.

But Ash is facing him. Waiting for Sam to blow up at him.

"There's…there's something I've been…"

Sam waits patiently, allowing Ash to gather his thoughts. It's taking a while so Sam thinks that this revelation must be something big. Something huge that's making Ash blame himself for all this.

"I am the final fate."

Sam blinks and waits for Ash to continue. After a moment, Ash realises that he has to.

"I-" he says, "whatever I say comes true. I speak prophesy, Sam."

Sam can feel his face twisting in disbelief. But not in doubt over what Ash is telling him, that he can believe after everything. It's more a disbelief that Ash believes that because what he says comes true, that Ash is responsible for all this.

"I…" Sam says, and then doesn't know how to continue.

This is self-deprecation even _he_ can't believe.

Ash must think Sam's blaming him though, as he tries to move away.

Sam stops that very quickly. Ash is like Dean, and Sam knows that if he lets Ash walk away from this then Ash is going to squirrel it away somewhere until he's just a ticking time bomb of angst and grief.

This is why it's healthier to talk about problems!

"I still don't get why it's your fault though." Sam says.

Ash opens and closes his mouth a few times. Then says "I said that his past would catch up with him." Like it's supposed to make sense to Sam.

"You…" Sam says after it becomes clear that this is the crux of the matter, "you think that that makes it your fault?"

"Sam," Ash takes a deep breath, "it _is_ my fault."

"Um…no?"

Ash blinks and then looks at Sam like Sam's crazy.

Sam thinks its all par for course because Sam thinks Ash is pretty crazy too.

"What do you mean, no?" Ash asks.

"No, it's not your fault."

"Of _course_ it is!" Ash says. And if Sam wasn't thinking anything else it would be how much Ash seems to want it to be his fault. But he is, and that's how Ash is wearing an expression that's so confused between grief and frustration and hope that it's making Sam's head hurt.

"Um. No." Sam says again because he thinks he's just going to have to repeat the same thing over and over again until it lodges in Ash's brain.

Geez, Ash and Dean are more alike than ever in moments like these.

"Did you not-" Ash starts, "did you not just _hear_ what I said? That I speak prophesy? Then I said…"

Okay, the weirdness of this conversation has taken over any other feeling that Sam's having right now.

"Ash," Sam says slowly, "you said his past would come back to get him."

"Exactly!" Ash says, sounding frustrated that Sam isn't blaming him or something. Sam doesn't even know anymore. It's like he's walked through a mirror.

"But that could mean anything." Sam points out. "Seriously," he interrupts Ash when Ash opens his mouth, "it could have meant anything. Not just this. That was a pretty vague statement."

"But-"

"Er…no." Sam's back to repeating the obvious. He wonders how many times he's going to have to do this with Ash. Sometimes it takes seven or eight repetitions with-

"But it wouldn't ha-" Ash says, saving Sam from finishing the thought.

"I'm pretty sure it _would_ have." Sam counters.

"But-"

"Oh my God," Sam says eventually in frustration, "why are you trying to steal all the blame for Dean's-" he flinches.

Ash stills, then he offers an awkward "sorry."

"Because, seriously? That prophesy could have been talking about the bean taco Dean ate the night before. You do not want to know how bad that could have come back to haunt Dean. Don't think that it hasn't happened before. I don't even know why he still eats that and thinks it's a meal. It _isn't_.

"Anyway," Sam says, "If I remember correctly you said that it'd come back to haunt him and he'd regret teasing me. Which would _still_ apply to the taco scenario, seen as I'd've hidden all the toilet paper."

Ash snorts, then looks horrified. Sam grins at his reaction, something lightening in his chest that he's managed to make Ash smile a little.

Well, maybe not smile because Ash is, again, like Dean in that way regarding emotions and feelings. And Sam's had a lot of experience getting emotionally stunted people to open up.

It's almost relaxing now.

"Now do you understand?" Sam asks softly.

Ash blinks a few times. And there's _something_ in his eyes. Something Sam can't work out right now because he doesn't have all the pieces. But Ash seems more relaxed. Like someone's just given him the first hug of his life and he'd never knew what he'd been missing.

"Yeah." He says quietly, and Sam notices that his eyes are brighter.

Sam rolls his eyes at the admission and the amount of time and energy he's had to put into getting someone to accept the obvious. Not that he's never had to do _that_ before.

Yes, he's still hurting and Dean's _gone_ but Ash just derailed any major shock and grief that he was in. He's not even sure Ash did it on purpose either. Now he's in hunter mode.

Time to sort this mess out.

###

Apparently Ash gets embarrassed pretty easily because, after Sam had managed to convince him that the world's problems don't solely rest on his shoulders, he'd scrambled up off the bed like it was on fire.

Sam followed because he'd felt pretty stupid lying on his back while Ash was standing above him.

Then Ash vanished the bed, and that kind of thing was just _intriguing_ to Sam, but he can't get distracted.

Which leads to now. Sam is pacing, trying to sneakily rub the feeling back into his arm, and Ash is watching him pace.

"So," Sam says, "what you're saying is that you can't go and get Dean's soul."

"No." Ash says. And yeah, it's the third time they've gone through this conversation but Sam needs to make sure.

"Because you can't."

Ash looks pained. "I would if I could-"

"But it's not your pantheon and I still can't believe you didn't tell me you were a god!" Sam interrupts, then holds his hands up, "No, wait, yes I can."

"I _wanted-_ "

"No, you didn't." Sam says and rolls his eyes. "You didn't want to expose yourself."

There's a silence and Sam belatedly realises that he's maybe been a bit too harsh. He turns to see that Ash is wearing his aloof face and sighs.

"Ash," he says calmly, "you don't need to lie to me because you feel bad. You had your reasons, and I can understand that.

"You also don't have to explain everything about yourself to me because we're friends." He pauses, "At least…I think we're friends. I consider us friends."

Ash doesn't say anything, but Sam does see him relaxing somewhat, so he chalks that up to a win.

"Okay," Sam says, getting back to the matter at hand, "So, _you_ can't go get him. And _I_ can't go get him. So we'll need someone _else_ to go get him."

Sam stops pacing and rubs his arm harder. The feelings back in it now but he needs something to do so he can concentrate.

"Yeah," Sam says turning to Ash. "I got nothing. Know anyone?"

Ash looks shifty for a moment and Sam zeros in on the movement. Ash notices.

"Well," Ash says, "There _is_ …but we're not…he's not…"

"Ash," Sam says slowly, "at this point I don't care if I have to deal with a demon."

Ash glances up to the ceiling. "Well," he says, "he's not a demon."

Sam blinks, "Okay, so…do you think he'd help?"

Ash makes a so-so noise in the back of his throat and Sam marvels at the level of comradery between them. It seems Sam's acceptance of Ash has opened up doors Sam didn't even know existed in their friendship.

"Maybe," Ash says, derailing Sam's thoughts, "if you were interesting enough he might consider helping. For a price."

Sam's breath whooshes out. Finally, they're making progress.

"Okay," Sam says, "okay. So, how do I contact him? Is there some sort of ritual?" he makes a face, "Do I need chicken blood? Please tell me I don't need chicken blood."

Ash's lips twitch. "Well, we could use chicken blood." He says, "Or I could just phone him."

Sam flushes. "Er, yeah. Or that."


	13. December 13th

Castiel is torn.

He knows that the feeling is alien to him. That he shouldn't be feeling anything, by rights, because he is not human.

But he hasn't managed to become acclimatised to his vessel yet, and the events happening around him aren't calm enough that he can manage the focus to do so. If he had had any time, then he would have been able to desensitise himself fully.

The three days at the beginning have not been enough.

The bleed through is _horrendous_.

Castiel doesn't know how humans cope like this. How they manage everything and still stay sane.

It's overwhelming and confusing and, more than once, Castiel has found himself commiserating with the humans.

He is beginning to understand why they act in contrary ways when every new moment brings with it constant changes.

How can anyone stay steady in such a deluge of information?

Often, when he isn't concentrating, his grace will fluctuate, not used to being confined, and Castiel would be fine one moment and then suffering from all too human emotions and sensations.

It is not something to be proud of.

He has heard tales of other angels, ones who have come down before, having been able to acclimatise within days.

It has been two weeks now, and Castiel still isn't any closer. And it is a mark of shame for him to have to ask for help.

Uriel is trusting him to do his job. His _garrison_ is relying on him. He can't let them down.

But then…he already has now, hasn't he.

Dean is dead.

Dean's soul is in Hell.

And he has failed to prevent it.

It isn't like it would have been that difficult. Dean had finally died, cut down by a demon. And Castiel, despite having never fought against the powers of Hell personally, has been trained for millennia for this.

It would not have been hard to protect his charge. Michael's vessel.

And yet, at the moment Dean drew his last breath, Castiel had been hiding.

Hiding because he had been shocked, and had felt the all too human sense of betrayal, and had run.

He now knew why none of them could find Dean's soul. He'd known since he saw Artemis' mark on Dean's throat.

Dean had joined her ranks.

 _Willingly_ joined her ranks of hunters.

It…shouldn't come as a surprise, Castiel thought. Dean was always a hunter; a warrior. That he would chose so again when given the opportunity was not that big of a leap.

No, it is _his own_ feelings that have him in turmoil.

Castiel had felt betrayed because Dean now belonged to another pantheon.

And it wasn't even the loss of the vessel. Dean would always be Michael's, no matter what shape or form his body was in.

No.

It was the fact that Dean had willingly switched. And had done so, so easily.

Castiel felt betrayed because Dean had chosen another over them. That he had told them that they weren't good enough. Had shown it in the complete lack of remorse and the embracing of his new life.

And really, were they good enough? They hadn't prevented the demon Azazel from infecting innocents. They hadn't stepped in to save the vessels from harm.

The situation was odd. But Castiel was not one to openly challenge God's plan.

It had occurred, so there must be a reason.

But how is he to explain this to Uriel? How is he to explain that he let the vessel of Michael die, because he couldn't control his grace and vessel?

Castiel lets his head drop into his hands at the thought. Grace fluctuating again. He is almost at the point where he doesn't even care anymore.

But that is just the human vessel. This exasperation and frustration.

This fear.

It is all because he has not gained full control. And that is an extremely galling thought.

He sighs, again another human reaction, and tightens his grace. Refusing to let it move on its own.

He has not had to do this since before he had joined his garrison.

Once he has frozen his grace, he feels more like himself. The last, lingering sensations from his vessel fading into nothing.

It is odd, to not have his grace flowing freely around him, but maybe that has been part of the problem. That he has expected to carry on as an angel whilst in a vessel, and not making any sacrifices.

It is almost embarrassing at how slow he's been, regarding all of this. But he has an excuse. He had not expected the vessels to have been born so soon. He had thought that he would have had centuries more training.

He is wrong, of course. The vessels are here now. He will have to make do. It is his own fault that he has not taken the time to adequately prepare.

Castiel breathes out slowly and is pleased to note that his grace stays calm.

Now, to learn how to do this without having to spend all of his concentration on it.

He's about to leave when the rustle of wings catches on the air and suddenly he is not alone anymore.

Castiel can feel his grace twitching, but does not show any signs of discomfort or being startled by the unexpected visitor.

It gets much harder to stay calm when said visitor turns out to be Uriel, but Castiel manages it.

Uriel is in fine form, glancing around the empty building that Castiel has hidden himself in for the time being. He does not look like he will begin speaking any time soon.

Castiel doesn't know what to say. Shall he admit to failing immediately? Or should he wait to see what Uriel wants of him.

He will need orders regardless. Uriel has been searching for Dean's soul too. He would have noticed that it appeared back on this plane last night. And then promptly left again.

"Uriel." Castiel says.

"Ah, Castiel." Uriel turns to him with a smile. "Good job."

Castiel refrains from frowning. It is something that he has become used to doing these last few days as he had struggled to regain himself.

Uriel nods in companionship. "I hadn't thought you would be able to solve our little problem so fast. I apologise for underestimating you."

This time Castiel cannot help the frown. "Problem."

Uriel blinks and looks his vessel over. "Yes. The problem of Dean's missing soul." He pauses, "Is something the matter Castiel? Are you having trouble with your vessel?"

Uriel's eyebrow rises with the last question and it is such a human response that for a moment Castiel is surprised. And then he realises that Uriel is mocking him, or would be mocking him if it turns out that Castiel doesn't have full control.

This is not Uriel's first time on earth. He knows what Castiel is going through.

And yet, it is a _challenge_. And Castiel will not back down, especially not from a challenge of competence from his garrison leader.

His vessel wants to straighten his spine, tilt up his chin. But Castiel cannot, because to do so would be to admit that he _isn't_ in control.

Instead he says mildly, "I am fine, Uriel."

Uriel lets the silence that falls between them drag on for just that little bit too long. Castiel can feel his grace moving uncomfortably again and can already feel the hints of bleed through.

Luckily though, Uriel seems content with his answer and looks away.

"Dean's soul is in Hell."

Despite everything, Castiel's heart contracts and his stomach flips unpleasantly. He hopes that Uriel does not notice.

"I apologise." Castiel says.

Uriel shoots him a look that Castiel cannot figure out. "It is where he rightfully belongs."

"The vessel…" Castiel trails off. He is lost. Wasn't he supposed to guard the vessel? With Dean's soul in Hell, the vessel cannot be used.

"We will retrieve the soul of Dean in good time."

Castiel blinks. "Not now?"

Uriel raises his eyebrow again. "Are you questioning, Castiel?"

"No." Castiel backtracks as quickly as possible, without making it seem that he is backtracking. "I would never question my orders."

"Hmm," Uriel's gaze is narrowed on him, "I see."

Castiel stares back.

"You will be the one to retrieve Dean's soul from perdition." Uriel orders, his voice ringing with the weight of God's Will.

Castiel resists the urge to shiver.

"When shall I depart?"

Uriel smiles and, for some reason, Castiel wants to shiver again. "Not for a while yet, my brother. We need to prepare the garrison. The demons will not give his soul up lightly. I will contact you with more information later."

There is another rustle of wings and Castiel is, once again, left alone. He's confused. There are many questions that have not been answered and even more that have been raised.

But…this is all part of a plan. Castiel cannot think of a reason for waiting to retrieve Dean. Dean is an innocent and would not have stepped into Hell if not for wanting to save his brother. But there must be a reason.

It is not his place to question.

###

The phone call doesn't take long.

Ash doesn't even leave the room to take it. Just turns around for privacy, leaving Sam to examine the room more closely.

Shouting distracts Sam from this task though, and Sam turns to see Ash holding his phone away from his ear. He can almost _feel_ Ash rolling his eyes behind the new pair of sunglasses he's conjured up.

Then Ash is talking again but either Sam is too far away, or Ash is speaking too low, because Sam can't hear what is being said.

Sam turns back to the throne of gold. He can be tactful when needed.

Even if his curiosity is slowly killing him.

There's another bunch of shouting and then a sigh and the click of a phone closing.

"Well," Ash says, and then doesn't continue.

"Well?" Sam asks, his fingers pausing as they're tracing out filigree etched into the armrest.

Ash is giving him an odd look, one he can't fathom with the sunglasses, and Sam straightens, suddenly flustered.

"Well?" Sam asks again. "Is he going to help?"

"He wants to meet you." Ash says, holding out his hand. "I'm to take you to his home. He has granted me right of passage for this trip."

"Right." Sam takes Ash's hand and swallows, "Right."

###

The room that they appear in is dreary compared to the room Sam's just left.

Whilst Ash's throne room is all gold's and marbles and light, this is stone and grey and dark.

Sam shivers as he looks around. Grateful that Ash is still with him. There's something very forbidding about this place and Sam wonders if that's to do with the scenery, or the person who apparently lives here.

It's also empty apart from a _really_ ugly looking chair.

No, really. Sam doesn't think he's seen worse. Maybe at a funhouse somewhere.

Sam's too busy giving the throne a really weird look that, when the door slams open, he jumps.

Ash's hand tightens in his grasp and then relaxes.

And then Sam's attention is taken fully by the man striding through the room. He passes Sam and Ash without so much as a glance in their direction and sits in his throne, slouching ungracefully.

Well, as ungracefully as he can, seeing as it doesn't look like he can do _anything_ that makes him look bad. Long legs stretch out in front of him, one of them bent so his knees have fallen apart. Shoulder length hair brushes around his face, and from this distance and the state of the lights, Sam can't tell if its light brown or dark blond.

His eyes are easier to tell. They're black. The man has demon eyes.

Sam has to force himself not to shift when the man's gaze passes over his guests. Though Sam does blush when the man locks onto Sam and Ash's intertwined hands.

Ash clears his throat and the man sighs.

"Acheron." He acknowledges.

"Akantheus." Ash says.

The man sits up and snarls. "I'm sorry, are we using _those_ names now, Apostolos?"

Ash's lips quirk into a half-grin. "My apologies Thorn."

Thorn huffs and drops back into his seat. Sam has to try really, really hard to not compare him to a ruffled kitten. He's never had to compare a demon to a ruffled kitten before and he'd quite like to keep his sanity for a little while longer.

"So, who have you brought me today?"

Ash untangles his fingers from Sam and nudges Sam forward. Sam is only a little disappointed at the loss of contact, but his stomach is flipping with nerves. There's something familiar about this man, something that has Sam's blood racing.

"This is Sam Winchester."

Thorn's eyes widen and he sits forward.

"Er, hi." Sam says, for lack of a better greeting, giving a little awkward wave. It's unnerving being the sole recipient of that gaze and he wishes he had some holy water on him. He sees Thorn's lips twitch, and feels pleased, even though it looks like the involuntary reaction has made Thorn even more irritable.

Definitely a kitten.

"Interesting." Thorn says slowly and then turns to Ash, "Well?"

Ash raises an eyebrow.

"Go on," Thorn clarifies, "shoo."

Sam glances to Ash. Ash wouldn't really leave him here, right?

"I don't discuss business with others in the room, Acheron. You know that. I'll let you know when we've concluded." Thorn smiles slowly and it's almost like the shadows stretch to him, "Or is it my word you're wanting?"

"That would be helpful." Ash's face is blank and Sam is lost. He stays silent.

Thorn chuckles, a dark sound that chills Sam where he stands, "Very well. I promise that Sam will not be hurt whilst our meeting takes place."

"Until I retrieve him." Ash counters.

Thorn pauses and licks his lips, then nods. "I promise that Sam will not be hurt whilst our meeting takes place until you retrieve him." He amends.

"Wait a minute-" Sam cuts in.

Ash sighs and turns to Sam. "I'll see you later, Sam." He says, "If you're in any trouble, just call my name and I'll come." He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper, "Don't agree to anything you don't want to, Sam." He says urgently. "Just remember that this isn't the only option. I can try and find another way if he asks too much."

"Wait." Sam says, eyes wide, "You're really going to leave me here?"

"I can't stay Sam, its part of the rules." Ash smiles then, sudden and sharp in the dim light, "Don't worry, you'll do fine."

And then he's gone. Sam blinks in shock and turns to face Thorn again.

Thorn who is leaning back and surveying him like he's the most interesting thing to happen in the last decade.

"So…" Sam says when the silence gets too much.

Thorn jerks, realising that he's been caught staring. "What is your request?"

"I want my brother back out of hell."

Thorn exhales loudly. "Well, you sure don't do things by half, do you kid?"

"Can you do it?" Sam asks.

Thorn shoots him a sly glance and stands, brushing the creases from his trousers. "Yes."

Sam sighs as he feels the tension leave his shoulders. Dean is almost free.

"The _question_ ," Thorn continues, "is _will_ I do it. And so far, I'm not seeing much of an incentive."

Sam frowns. "What do you want?"

Thorn picks lint off his shirt sleeve, looking casual. "Hmm, now that _is_ another good question."

Sam wants to punch him. Really, he does. Demons always try to capture and trick you with their words. It's hard enough trying to deal with them when you don't know what's truth and what's lies. Even more so when they're going out of their way to be obtuse.

"Are you going to _answer_ the question?" Sam asks. And, okay. Irritating the powerful being that may or may not help him save Dean's soul is probably not the best way to deal with things, but this is getting ridiculous.

Thorn's eyes narrow, "Careful, or I won't deal with you at all."

Sam restrains from rolling his eyes. "So you were planning to deal with me then."

Thorn opens his mouth and then closes it again. He gives Sam an appraising look and moves closer to him.

Sam is only mildly amused to find that he's taller than Thorn. He's careful not to smile though.

Thorn notices anyway and Sam watches as exasperation and annoyance flash in his eyes.

"What will it take for you to bring back my brother's soul?" Sam asks carefully.

"You don't just walk into Hell." Thorn says testily, "It's a little more complicated than going for a stroll and picking up a couple of souls on the way back."

Sam wets his lips. "What will it take for you to bring back my brother's soul?" He repeats.

Thorn scowls and sighs. "Fine. You."

Sam blinks. "Me?"

"I want you."

Sam narrows his eyes, "You…want my soul?"

Thorn scoffs and rolls his eyes, "I'm not under the delusion that you'll give me your soul. Besides, what would I _do_ with one? Have you ever handled a soul? It's not as fun as you might think."

"So what…?"

"I want you to work for me." Thorn says. "That's what it'll cost you to get your brother's soul back."


	14. December 14th

That…was not a request that Sam ever saw coming. He's practically reeling where he stands.

His soul he saw giving up. Not getting offered a job. He, rather hysterically, wonders when the last time he updated his CV was and whether Thorn would accept shooting ghosts as an acceptable hobby.

"Work how?" Sam asks, feeling blindsided.

Thorn grins and Sam's stomach absolutely does not tighten at the sudden change. "You ever heard of the Hellchasers?"

Sam hasn't. They sound like some sort of leather wearing bike gang.

At Sam's bemused look Thorn continues, "The Hellchasers are a group of misfits whose job it is, is to hunt down demons who have escaped."

Sam blinks. "Escaped where?"

"From Hell."

Sam's eyes narrow because really, it can't be that simple. "You…hunt demons?"

"Yes."

"And…you want me to hunt demons?" Sam clarifies.

Thorn rolls his eyes. His black as night eyes.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time Sam has come across a demon that hunts other demons. Ruby for instance. She'd taken down one of the _deadly sins._

"Yes." Thorn says again.

"So…" Sam trails off, because he's really not seeing the catch here and there _is_ a catch. There's always a catch. And yet… "You basically want me to do what I've been doing for pretty much my entire life?"

Thorn blinks and opens his mouth. Then closes it almost immediately and give Sam a weird look.

"You've done this before?"

And wow, Sam thinks, he sounds pissed. Like he thought hunting demons was going to be this big surprise and change in lifestyle.

He…kind of looks like someone stole his toy.

Sam wants to hug him and pat him on the head.

Okay, this was _not_ what he expected. At all.

Big scary demon guy, covered in scars and swearing like a redneck hunter in Ellen's bar, yes. Short blond guy with ruffled kitten aura, no.

But then again, Sam doesn't really have much in the way of self-preservation, as it's been pointed out quite a few times. Though more self-preservation than Dean, it has to be said. What with his gung-ho attitude to hunting everything.

Geez, Sam hates thinking what would have happened to his brother if he hadn't decided to pick hunting back up.

Dean would have probably been eaten by something by now.

Eaten or stabbed or shot or freaking _electrocuted_.

Oh wait…that's already _happened_. And look what Sam had to do to fix it as well!

And Dean complains that _Sam_ is the one that blithely heads off into danger. Sam's not naive and he's not innocent and he doesn't need his big brother protecting him every step of the way.

When was the _last time_ something bad happened to him?

Okay…maybe Sam shouldn't go there.

"Er…yeah." Sam says and manfully restrains his grin when he sees a scowl appear on Thorn's face. "Almost every week. Sometimes more than that if it's a busy one."

That seems to irritate Thorn even more as he stands and starts to pace. Glancing at Sam every few seconds.

"You…" He says, and then trails off and narrows his eyes.

Sam stands there and enjoys the scrutiny. He doesn't think he's had this much fun in a long time. So he really can't help himself when he adds, "Did Ash not tell you?"

Thorn growls, actually growls, and spins to face Sam.

"Careful, kid. I haven't agreed to anything." He says, "I can rescind my offer at any time." He pulls out his mobile with a vicious smile, "Want me to call Ash now? Tell him we're done here?"

Panic makes Sam's stomach curl and he reaches out to Thorn, letting his hand fall just short of gripping his arm. No need to give Thorn any more reason to not help. "No. I'm sorry!"

Thorn raises an eyebrow as he eyes the hand. Sam flushes as he quickly retracts it, rubbing it with his other.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeats, looking contrite.

Thorn lets the silence drag on and Sam is just starting to believe that maybe he's actually blown this. That maybe Thorn won't help him and Dean will be stuck in Hell forever and it'll all be Sam's fault.

Just like it always is.

His thoughts are derailed when Thorn huffs out a breath. "Geez, kid."

Sam glances up from beneath his eyelashes to see Thorn looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"I never said it was _off_ the table either."

Sam's face brightens and he takes a step forward. "Really? You'll do it?"

Thorn sways back a little, but doesn't step away. "You look like I've just decided to kick your puppy or something." He makes a grumbling noise and then sighs. "Okay, fine, I'm not going to rescind my offer."

Sam smiles and then hunches again, "I _am_ really sorry." He adds because apologising again can't be a bad thing.

Thorn pulls a disgusted face, looking like he's just swallowed a lemon or something equally bitter.

But he doesn't blast Sam across the room and he doesn't call Ash, so Sam chalks that up to a win and smile brightly at him.

"Damn," Thorn mutters very quietly.

Sam isn't sure whether or not he's supposed to have heard that, so he takes the not-pissing-off-the-demon route and decides to ignore it.

"So, that's the deal?" He asks.

Thorn blinks and looks Sam in the eyes. "Huh?"

"The deal," Sam repeats, "if I join your little gang will you save my brother?"

Thorn looks completely insulted. "Gang?" He repeats, "This is more than just playtime for kiddies!"

Sam flinches.

"No," Thorn says, sounding frustrated, "don't…don't look like that. Fuck." He sighs loudly and runs his hand through his hair. From this close, Sam can see it's blond. It's also very, very silky looking.

Sam's fingers itch to touch.

And that is probably the _worst_ decision he could ever make.

Why hello there demon, please let me insult you then fondle your hair. Oh no, this is all perfectly acceptable. What? You're going to rip out my spleen and feed it to me? Sounds wonderful!

Yeah.

That'd work.

"The deal is, I will rescue your brother's soul from Hell if you agree to work for me."

Sam opens his mouth to agree and then hesitates. Ash had been very specific in his wording and Sam's training was screaming at him.

"Work for you doing what?"

Thorn rolls his eyes but Sam can see a hint of a smirk, "hunting demons, menial tasks, that sort of thing."

It's not great. There's still so much that's open about the amendment.

Menial tasks? What Sam thinks is menial and what Thorn thinks is menial could vastly differ. Actually, there's probably no _actually_ about it. They would. Sam is human and Thorn is…not. Menial for Sam is picking up milk from the shops.

Menial for Thorn could be assassinating Batman.

Or something. Because Batman doesn't exist of course.

Sam also thinks, even with the vagueness, that this is as specific as Thorn is going to get.

Sam is also well aware that Thorn doesn't _have_ to be doing this.

Besides, he was going to sell his soul if it came up on the table, no matter what Ash has said. Doing the equivalent of his already existing job, plus a few extras doesn't sound so bad.

It's pretty much what Dean signed up for anyway. So when Dean gets back he won't really be able to bitch and moan at Sam without looking hypocritical.

"So…?" Sam prompts, wanting to hear the deal said aloud in its full glory.

"I will rescue your brother's soul from Hell if you agree to work for me by hunting demons and other menial tasks." Thorn says.

Sam takes his time to think about it. Thorn's waiting patiently barely a foot from him.

They both know that this is the final deal on the table.

Sam lets out a slow breath. He's going to do this.

He's _actually_ going to do this.

"Deal," He says and then, before his nerves dissert him, he reaches and grabs Thorn's shirt, jerking him forward.

He barely has time to register Thorn's look of complete and utter shock before their lips collide.

It's painful in the beginning. Thorn hasn't been expecting it and hasn't braced, causing it to start off as more of a head butt than anything else.

Sam winces, but doesn't pull away.

Thorn isn't moving. Sam can't even feel him breathing.

Sam wonders if that will affect the deal.

If he accidently kills the demon will the contract still stand?

Better safe than sorry.

Sam tilts his head, causing his mouth to slide more easily over Thorn's. There's a brief pause and then Sam can feel a stuttering breath.

His eyes sliding shut, Sam steps forward until he can feel the heat from Thorn spreading across his chest. His fingers start to itch again. He wants to touch, wants to run his fingers across Thorn's skin and through his hair.

But that would be _totally_ inappropriate. This is just a kiss to seal a deal. Nothing more.

Absolutely nothing more.

Sam presses his lips more insistently and there's a small thrill in the base of his spine when Thorn's move against his almost tentatively.

Oh.

Sam makes a noise of appreciation and lifts one hand to grip Thorn's hip, whilst the other does what he's wanted to do for a while now and slides into Thorn's hair.

Thorn makes a startled noise when Sam scratches blunt fingernails against the nape of his neck, but it's muffled by Sam's mouth.

Sam hums in appreciation and pulls Thorn closer. Gods, he tastes so…

He flicks out his tongue to get more of that taste and feels Thorn jerk. And then things get messy.

Thorn surges up and grabs Sam's hair, pulling his head to an awkward angle. Sam opens his mouth in surprise and Thorn takes full and shameless advantage licking into Sam's mouth like he means it. His tongue slides against Sam's and it's hot and messy and so completely filthy that Sam's brain shorts out.

Sam's breath catches in his throat, and then he moans loud and long and half falls forward when his knees weaken.

Thorn is there, though, completely unmoveable and holding Sam up like he weighs absolutely nothing. He starts to walk backwards, dragging Sam with him. Rewarding him with little licks to the roof of Sam's mouth that cause heat to rush through his veins.

Sam, who is helpless to do anything but follow and whimper and practically _beg_ for it.

Sam groans slightly and tightens his grip in Thorn's hair, causing Thorn to hiss into his mouth. Sam would smirk but his brain is still taking a holiday and so he just repeats the motion, enjoying the way Thorn arches into him.

Thorn retaliates by suddenly swinging Sam around.

Sam flails for a moment as the back of his knees hit something unmoving and he sits down with a whumph. He barely has time to notice that he's sitting in the ugly chair, or that Thorn is looming over him, or that Thorn is half-cast in shadow making him look so completely dangerous that Sam's voice catches in his throat.

Sam tries to say something though because that's who he is and this has gone so far out of his realm that he has no idea what's happening.

He doesn't get that far.

In fact, he doesn't get anywhere at all because suddenly Thorn is there and pressing him back into the backrest and straddling him.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath and moans when Thorn decides that it's his goal to chase after that breath and try to coax it back out of Sam's lungs with his tongue.

Sam feels it only fair that he grips Thorn's hips tight enough to bruise. Thorn makes a noise of approval and presses further into his mouth.

It's only when Sam rolls his hips upwards to relieve pressure that he realises what he's doing. Thorn seems to realise it too as he jerks back. Sam is only moderately disappointed.

They both watch each other, panting, unsure what's just happened.

"What?" Sam tries to say, but it comes out garbled and lust roughened.

A pleased smirk crosses Thorn's face. But he's soon distracted when Sam licks his lips and clears his throat, following the path of Sam's tongue.

"What?" Sam tries again, pleased when it comes out intelligible.

Thorn raises an eyebrow, but doesn't move from straddling Sam. "I think that's my question. Why did you kiss me?"

Sam looks confused. "But that's how you seal a deal…"

If it's at all possible then Thorn's eyebrow climbs higher. "A deal?"

"With a demon. I've _researched_ this." Sam says, beginning to get flustered.

There's a quiet noise and Sam notices that Thorn's trembling. It's not until Thorn makes the noise again that Sam realises that he's trying not to laugh.

"What!" Sam says, starting to feel embarrassed.

Thorn's tongue darts out and he plants his hands either side of Sam's head, leaning in close. "Didn't it ever cross your mind that I'm _not_ a demon?"

Sam has to swallow a few times before he can speak, "But you have the eyes…"

"You mean these?" Thorn smirks as his eyes turn a bright, ethereal blue. "I can turn them any colour I want."

Sam can feel a blush spreading up his neck and across his face. "So you…er…I didn't need to…?"

"Didn't Ash tell you I wasn't a demon?" Thorn grins.

Sam groans and lets his head fall back because Ash _did_ and Sam had completely forgotten. He'd seen Thorn's eyes and immediately thought demon.

Oh God, this was so embarrassing.

Sam twitches and squeaks when he feels lips and teeth tease his throat.

"You know," Thorn murmurs against his skin, "I think I might have found something that'd I'd classify as a menial task." He grinds down and Sam squeaks again, his hands flexing on Thorn's hips where he hasn't yet let go.

"Seeing," Thorn adds, sucking a bruise just below Sam's ear, "that you now belong to me."

###

A vase shatters against the wall and Artemis screams.

Behind her, her handmaiden's quake against the far wall. Too scared to stay in the same room and yet unable to leave.

Her rage has passed on to the wilderness surrounding her temple and there are too many dangers. Vines and poisonous thorns have taken over the tree and animals with too many teeth slunk in the new darkness.

Her wilderness is not something tame any longer.

She knows.

She doesn't care.

Someone, some _thing_ had invaded her temple! Had possessed what was hers and snuck in! Had defiled her temple with death and blood! Had dared to enter her sleeping chambers!

 _Had stolen the soul of one of her warriors!_

And not only that! The…the _thing_ had dared to laugh at her!

Like Artemis wasn't anything to be worried about!

Artemis screams again and conjures another vase, throwing it and slamming it with a god bolt. Watching as it explodes in a mass of shards that scatter across the floor.

Earlier her brother had tried to enter her sanctuary. But for once she was too angry to let him bully her into doing anything.

She had slammed the temple doors in his face and not even cared at the look of surprise on his face.

This is _her_ temple. This is _her_ domain and it will not be invaded again by forces she does not want. Apollo is the younger of the two of them and it is time he realised that.

She is not going to cower at his feet any longer.

Artemis is panting heavily by the time she stops. Her rage has not disappeared, only settled into a slow, and pulsating mass somewhere below her sternum.

This is not over.

This is not over by a long shot.

She is Artemis, goddess of the Hunt.

And hunt she will.


	15. December 15th

Sam won't look at him.

All in all, Thorn's pretty pleased with himself. Despite the rather sudden and unexpected assault on his mouth, he thinks that everything went well.

Thorn has a new Hellchaser and all he has to do is walk into Hell and pull out a soul.

Easy.

…Fuck.

Okay, maybe he didn't think this through well enough. Maybe he was distracted by the all too alluring Sam Winchester when Ash dropped him into his lap.

Maybe he was caught up with the idea of owning a child of Azazel. Maybe he was distracted by the thought of all that _power_ beneath his fingertips.

Or maybe his reasoning and deduction skills were stolen when Sam looked at him from beneath his eyelashes.

Nah.

Gotta be the first one. No way would he…

Fuck.

Okay, lying to himself has never been high on his list. He wants Sam Winchester. Wants him bad. He can admit that to himself.

Question is; in what way does he want him?

Is it just for the heady knowledge that he has a human with demon blood running through his veins? And wasn't _that_ a fuck you to dear old dad.

Or was it more?

Was it for the knowledge of sweat-dampened skin reflecting candlelight? Was it for indescribable heat? Was it for his name being whispered, choked, shouted?

Hmm, probably a mix of all of them. And wasn't _that_ something interesting to find out about himself?

Thorn isn't stupid. He's been around a long time. And it's not like he particularly cares for what humans are preaching right now. It'll all change again in a few centuries time anyway, when someone comes along and decides that they don't like what's been written.

It's not like it hasn't happened before. Translation errors and reprints and connotations lost between shifts.

The words gaining new bias to endorse political regimes.

No, Thorn is quite happy living life how he wants. And if granddad wants to _have words_ with him about that then he'd have to come in person and do so.

Sam is still not looking at him only he seems to have noticed Thorn's staring as he's now beginning to flush a delightful shade of red. Thorn is only slightly mesmerised as he watches it creep across Sam's cheekbones and down his neck to be hidden by his collar.

He licks his lips and shifts in his chair.

Sam was his now. Sam would be forever his until he dissolved the deal between them. And, to be honest, he didn't see himself doing anything stupid like that for a long time. If ever.

Thorn tilts his head and clears his throat. He manages to tamper down a grin when Sam jerks, obviously not expecting him to say anything.

"So…" Thorn drawls, inwardly filled with glee when Sam glances at him and flushes a shade darker.

Sam looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Or, at the very least, for Thorn to not talk and let him pretend that he's standing alone and hasn't done something mortifying, yet delicious, in the past half hour.

Thorn is not about to oblige.

He stands quietly, and pads over until he's standing behind Sam. Not so close that he can feel body warmth, but close enough that he doesn't have to fully extend his arm to touch his new toy.

Sam hasn't noticed.

In fact, Sam is currently muttering under his breath with his eyes closed.

It's adorable, really, but Thorn's not in it for adorable.

"So." He says again, and is rewarded by a twitch and a sharply indrawn breath.

"Um…" Sam trails off, looking down at him and swallowing nervously.

And yeah, it's a bit – read, a lot – annoying for Thorn to be the short one in this set-up. But really, he's too distracted by following Sam's tongue with his eyes as it darts out to lick his lips.

Sam looks like he doesn't want to be there. But he also looks like he wants to step closer.

Thorn is intrigued.

And he hasn't been able to say _that_ in a while.

He chuckles, and watches as Sam shivers.

"How about I call Ash, hmm?" He asks, "Seeing as how our deal has been made."

Sam blinks a few times, and then seemingly comes back to himself. "O-oh, yeah. Right." He says, and then laughs nervously.

Thorn smiles and pulls out his phone. Then he hesitates. He can't resist getting the last comment in. "That is," he adds, only to see Sam twitch again, "if you don't have any other deals to make." He leans forward just a bit and bites down on the victorious grin when Sam unconsciously sways forward to meet him.

"I wouldn't mind making more deals with you, Sam." He murmurs, dropping his voice a few notches, and _wow_ this is fun, "Not with the way you close them."

He's rewarded with Sam blushing a shade of red that he hasn't seen someone go in a _very_ long time, and opening and closing his mouth almost helplessly.

Thorn chuckles and presses the speed dial for Ash. He doesn't really like the tall, smug bastard, but that doesn't mean he isn't friends with him.

Sort of friends.

Bitching-buddies?

Eh, it's not like they really needed labels for whatever they have. At least Ash is better than _Savitar_. Now, _there's_ an ornery bastard if ever there was one.

Savitar's just angry that his secret past isn't so secret when it comes to him.

Thorn doesn't know what Savitar's so worried about though. He's kept it quiet for this long, hasn't he?

The phone barely finishes the first ring when Ash picks up.

"Thorn." His voice is sharp and clipped and it makes Thorn want to mess with him a little bit.

Unfortunately he's got a soul to rescue and a Winchester to claim, so all irritations will have to be put onto the back burner.

"Acheron."

There's silence and then ash huffs out an annoyed breath. "Well?"

Thorn slides a glance over to Sam again, who is doing all he can to look like he's _not_ listening in on this conversation.

Thorn grins.

"Deal's been made."

There's another silence and Thorn can _hear_ Ash's thoughts as he wonders what Sam's just given up to get Thorn to do what he wants. Thorn lets him stew for a few moments and then adds "It was a _very_ pleasurable experience. For both of us."

Because he's a complete and _utter_ bastard.

Sam, who has been working on getting his blush under control again for the last part of the phone call, flushes hotly again. And Thorn can _taste_ Ash's rage as he jumps to conclusions.

"Oh?"

Thorn snorts. "Oh relax. I didn't do anything. Now, chop chop. Come collect Sam. I've got a soul to steal."

He doesn't even get to push the button to end the call before Ash is in his throne room, appearing between Thorn and Sam.

Wow, that's impressive. Thorn would've thought that Ash has been spying on them the whole time to be able to judge distances like that. But Thorn warded this place himself and he _knows_ Ash can't.

Even with Ash's god powers.

Thorn lowers his phone and smiles. "Well?"

"Sam?" Ash says, as he turns to look at the man standing behind him.

Sam is still blushing.

"Sam," Ash says quietly. It's obviously meant to be the opening to a private conversation. Thorn eavesdrops shamelessly. Even going so far as to pad two steps closer so he doesn't miss anything.

"Did he make you… _do_ …?" Ash says, clearly struggling for words.

"Um," Sam clears his throat, "Uh, no."

And now he just looks guilty.

This is like…the _best_ thing that Thorn has ever seen play out in his throne room. He takes another step closer again.

"Are you sure?" Ash is murmuring now, "You can…"

This is obviously painful for Ash, and Thorn feels like a bit of a dick when he remembers what Ash has gone through.

Then he feels annoyed with himself for _caring_.

But it doesn't stop him from rolling his eyes and saying, loudly, "We didn't sleep together."

Ash tenses, but when Sam confirms it, the tension leaks out of him.

Thorn doesn't move when Ash turns to face him, standing next to Sam. "Thorn." He says stiffly, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

"Right," Thorn claps his hands and rubs them together gleefully. He knows he was all against taking a stroll through Hell before, but now he's getting strangely excited for screwing with the demons. And no, this isn't leftover from his teenage rebellion years.

This is just him liking being a bastard.

"Right." He says again and then makes a shooing motion with his hands. "I've got a soul to get. Then I'll be back to collect, Winchester."

Ash tenses again but Sam reaches out and brushes his hand across his arm. He relaxes.

Thorn feels something hot and unpleasant settle in his stomach at the byplay. He narrows his eyes and re-evaluates the way Sam and Ash are standing together.

Possessiveness rushes through him, making his fingertips itch with the need to grab and touch and reclaim.

Sam is _his_.

It's this possessiveness that makes him smile, dark and vicious, when Ash sees the bruise on Sam's neck.

"What?" Thorn says, "I said I didn't sleep with him. I never said nothing happened."

And then he clicks his fingers, throwing Sam and Ash out of his realm with barely a passing thought.

He has a job to do.

###

Thorn is cursing himself not five minutes later as he slips into his black armour.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

This is all going to go downhill so fast that broken bones are going to be the least of his worries.

Now that he's apparently thinking again, there's all sorts of things he didn't check because _Sam bloody Winchester_ seemingly bamboozled him with those brown eyes of his.

For example. What was the brother called?

 _That was a pretty simple question._

Also, why was he in Hell in the first place?

Not that Thorn really cared who did what or whether someone thought they've been misused. But he'd quite like to know why someone would go to such lengths.

And let's not forget the doozy! How long has Sam's brother been in Hell?

Because, if he's been there for quite a while, then there's a pretty big chance that he's already cracked. And if he's cracked then he would have started the process to becoming a demon.

And if he's a demon, then Thorn's not sure what he's going to do because on one hand he's got Sam. And he really wants Sam. And on the other there's the whole Hellchaser thing with its _creed_ of hunting down demons from Hell.

He's not too sure about what his minions will think if their leader starts releasing them for no apparent reason.

Thorn curses again as he tightens the strap of his gauntlet and throws his red cloak over his shoulders, adjusting it so it hid the sword he strapped at his waist.

Let's just hope Sam's brother hasn't cracked, because if he's honest with himself, Thorn isn't sure what he'd choose either.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and calming himself.

When he opens his eyes again, they're yellow, looking back at him from the mirror. He smooth's his hair back into a ponytail and rolls his shoulders.

Showtime.

###

Sneaking into Hell is almost pathetically easy.

To be fair though, Thorn knows all the shortcuts and has the unfair advantage of being the son of its ruler.

Also, Thorn has cloaked himself so not even _he_ can sense himself.

It's no wonder he's able to walk past the poor bastards who call themselves guards.

Doesn't stop him tripping one of them.

He quietly sniggers as he moves away from the sounds of shouting and death doled out through fists and teeth.

Ah, how he's missed this.

Unfortunately he can't stop and see the sights as every minute in here is a minute that his father might sense him.

Not that he's _scared_.

Just that bad things will happen and he'd rather not start the apocalypse early _thank you very much_.

He's been keeping that shit on the down low for countless years and he's not going to blow it for a pair of big brown eyes.

Thorn rolls his own eyes as he skirts around the Roasting Pits and heads further into the Plane of Torment or whatever they're calling it nowadays.

It's probably still the Plane of Torment.

Demons just aren't that creative.

Screams of agony echo back to him and Thorn licks his lips. He can still taste Sam.

That's a good thing as he can also taste his soul.

Sam's brother's soul isn't going to be the same. Heck, no soul is related to another, but the way that Sam came ready and willing to sacrifice everything says a lot.

It tells Thorn that, even if it was just one-sided, the brother's souls have been intertwined.

Which means that there's a chance that Thorn can track the soul he needs this way.

He stops in a clear patch of ground and focuses on the taste of Sam again, waiting for an echo to reverberate back to him from the depths of Hell.

It takes a few seconds, but it's there. And it's strong. The brothers were closer than he's realised.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that the soul is in the middle of a torturing session.

Thorn only hopes he's not too late.

###

He's not late.

But whether or not that's a good thing is debateable.

The soul is bright and shining and _so fucking righteous_ that Thorn doesn't know how it's even in Hell to begin with.

And then his stomach curls when he remembers the seals.

Oh fuck.

It doesn't look like Sam's brother has cracked just yet, which is a miracle in and of itself considering who his torturer is.

Thorn hasn't seen Azazel's daughter in a long time, but he knows that he's never seen her this angry before. She isn't even giving the soul the option to draw blood.

Which is good for him.

Thorn needs to get Sam's brother out of here fast before shit hits the fan and everything goes down the drain.

And really, where the hell were the angels? Thorn knows they have a warning system in place that will rescue any and all righteous souls from Hell before they even get to this stage.

He knows because he made sure that it was working.

Gabriel was a great help in setting that up before he buggered off to who knows where.

No, Thorn has to concentrate. First off, get Meg to leave. Second, steal soul. Third, run away.

Good a plan as any.

The execution of said plan isn't quite so cut and dry.

As in, he doesn't exactly get Meg to leave as he slams the hilt of his sword into her temple and knocks her unconscious.

Then he has to waste precious minutes fixing up the soul so that it can travel. Not that he isn't a fan of naked and bloody guys, of course. It's just that it's pretty hard to drag them through Hell without attracting attention.

Especially when the ability to cloak is limited to himself only.

In the end Thorn just squishes said soul back to its original form as a burning ball of soul-grace.

It's gloopy and sticks to his fingers and when he touches it he gets the thoughts, feelings and memories of one, now named, Dean Winchester, flowing through his head.

Dear G-…er…granddad, the man was a bit of a slut.

Leaving isn't that hard compared to everything else. At least until he gets to the sight of one of the gateways. Then, as luck always has it, the alarm starts to blare and Thorn has to dodge a crowd of demons, whilst being distracted by memories of something called a Purple Nurple, before he can slip through the gap and close it behind him.


	16. December 16th

Ash is tense, standing stiff in the middle of his throne room.

Sam has no idea what to do.

Well, technically, he doesn't really have to do anything, because he has no idea what's wrong. But it just doesn't feel right if he tries to let this one slide. Like he's not being a good friend.

He's not quite sure how, specifically, with the details.

But it's true.

Sam shifts and then edges around until he can look Ash in the eye, rather than stare at his profile.

"Ash?" He asks.

Ash twitches and then focuses his gaze on Sam.

"What did you give up?" He asks, and his voice comes out strangled.

Sam frowns and moves forward, "What?" he asks, knowing that this is important, but not knowing how important.

Ash opens and closes his mouth and then, to Sam's horror, his shoulders slump and he looks so helpless that Sam can't help but grip his arm.

Ash reaches up and lightly brushes his fingertips across Sam's throat. Heat curls low in Sam's belly when he realises what Ash is touching, and just who sucked the bruise there.

And what he looked like straddling Sam, half-cast in shadows and grinning.

It takes more than he thought he possessed to stand still under Ash's touch. Let Ash run his fingers across over-sensitised skin.

Eventually, though, it gets too much and Sam turns his head into the caress, knowing that his breath is brushing across Ash's exposed wrist.

Ash sucks in a shaky breath and cups his hand over the bruise. It's hot against Sam's skin, burning like a brand.

"Ash," Sam says, and then doesn't say anything else because he doesn't know _what_ to say. How does he make this better? How does he explain?

"Tell me he didn't…" Ash says, his voice low and cracking, "tell me…"

Sam briefly closes his eyes. Thoughts of _oh God_ running through his head. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to see Ash looking pained and jumping to _all the wrong_ conclusions because-

Because Ash has been through something horrific and it's the only conclusion he can jump to first.

Anger and pain and helplessness rushes through Sam's body and he has to take another breath to prevent him grabbing a shotgun and going after whoever hurt Ash so badly. He doesn't even care if he has to summon a spirit to dole out punishment.

Once the roaring in his ears subsides, Sam leans forward and cups Ash's face and says, staring straight into his eyes, "Nothing happened to me."

Sam can see Ash beginning to frown and cuts him off.

"Nothing happened to me that I didn't…er…instigate. In the first place."

Sam can't help the flush as Ash's eyebrow slowly climbs his forehead. He coughs awkwardly.

"Sam?" Ash asks.

Sam really doesn't want to answer the unasked question, but figures that he pretty much has to.

"I," he says, clearing his throat and dropping his hands from Ash's face, "I…may have kissed him first."

Ash's eyes widen comically and yet, all Sam wants to do is sink through the floor.

"I…thought he was a demon…"

"I told you he wasn't." Ash points out.

Sam makes a strangled noise and fidgets, "Yeah. Yeah, but…but I forgot and his eyes were black and that's just _demon_ , so…"

"So you _kissed_ him?"

Sam glances to the ceiling and whispers a prayer. It isn't answered and he has to turn back to Ash's confused but amused eyes.

"Well I…that's what you do with a crossroad demon!" He protests, "You kiss them and it seals the deal and that's what I thought I had to do!"

Ash's tentative smile drops from his face at the reminder.

"What did you give him, Sam?"

Sam mumbles something under his breath. Ash just waits patiently until he repeats himself.

"Alright," Sam eventually says, "I agreed to work for him. As a member of the Hellchasers."

Ash presses his lips together hard enough that his mouth becomes a thin white line.

"It's not so bad," Sam says, "It's pretty much what I've been doing anyway. You know. Hunting demons. And it's not like Dean didn't sign on for a deal like it."

Sam can see Ash's jaw working for a few moments before he sighs.

Sam hates to see Ash so down and reaches down and tugs on his wrist, "Come on, it's not like I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Yeah," Ash says, but he doesn't sound so sure.

Sam lightly squeezes the wrist in his grasp, "Come on," he smiles, a slow curl of warmth that Ash mimics after a seconds pause, "trust me."

Ash glances down at his captured wrist and then back up at Sam.

"Yeah," he says again, warmer this time, "yeah, okay."

###

Thorn's throne room is blessedly empty when he gets back.

Good, he can't really be bothered dealing with over-excitable minions right now. Handling Dean's soul is giving him a headache and he doesn't even _want_ to add jittery sycophants to that cocktail.

He slumps in his seat and eyes the soul in his hands with a margin of disgust.

Even through the gauntlets he can feel the memories. Dean has one strong soul to get past his armour like that. He'd feel impressed but he's just spent who knows how long being assaulted by mindless crap he did not need.

Thorn does not care about Dean.

He sighs and tips the soul until it is cradled in one palm, and then tries to extract his other hand so he has one free to call Ash.

It's easier said than done.

Dean's soul clings to his palm and fingers and Thorn has to shake his hand until it falls with a squelch, tendrils still clinging to his gauntlet.

"Urgh." Thorn pulls a disgusted face, wiping his hand on his cloak. "This is why I hate souls."

Hand now free and clean he reaches for his mobile. Only belatedly realising that he's still wearing his armour and he doesn't have pockets.

He rolls his eyes and clicks his fingers, his phone materialising in the air in front of him, allowing him to snatch it before it falls. He flicks it open and calls Ash who answers on the third ring.

"Got your soul." He says tersely, eyeing Dean's soul warily as it starts to jiggle about on its own, "You coming here or shall I come-"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence when he's practically sucked into Ash's realm. He staggers, trying not to fall on his arse when the chair beneath him suddenly disappears.

And if he didn't know any better, then he'd say that Ash did that on _purpose_.

"Oi!" He says, straightening and thanking good genes for the strength in his thighs that allow him to do that without his arms, "What do you th-"

He cuts himself off when he looks up to see Ash and Sam practically plastered against one another. Ash has one hand curled possessively around Sam's throat and Sam is clinging to Ash's other wrist.

Rage makes Thorn's stomach clench hard and he has to grit his teeth to prevent blowing up at them, glaring at Ash who glares right back.

He keeps reminding himself that the deal is now complete and Sam belongs to _him_ now. Not Ash. Not anyone.

Sam is the first to move. He makes a soft "oh" when he catches sight of the soul burning steadily in Thorn's palm and takes a step towards it, his hand outstretched like he wants to touch.

Thorn and Ash react at the same time. Thorn pulls the soul tight to his chest and Ash grabs Sam's wrist and stops him from getting any closer.

Sam looks at both of them with the most pathetically betrayed expression on his face.

"Sorry, Sam." Ash says, "But you can't touch it."

Sam pouts. "But that's my _brother_ ," he argues.

"Ash's right," Thorn forces himself to admit, even though it hurts on some level. "You can't touch it."

"But _why?_ "

Ash tugs Sam's wrist to get his attention. "Sam," he says, "souls…well…"

"They burn." Thorn cuts in when it looks like Ash is having difficulty finding the right words. "They burn with an intensity that would char your flesh."

Sam blinks, and then looks at Dean's soul in disbelief.

Thorn doesn't blame him. The soul doesn't really look like it's on fire. It kind of looks like half melted putty that's glowing with a soft white light.

Nevertheless, that doesn't mean it isn't dangerous.

Humans were never meant to handle souls that weren't their own.

"If you touch it," Ash adds, "in its raw state. You'll most likely drop it and that would be…"

"Bad." Thorn finishes. "Very, very bad."

"Destroying Dean forever bad." Ash clarifies.

"Oh," says Sam. His voice wistful as he stares at his brother's soul. So close and yet so far.

There's a moment where everyone looks at the soul, happily wobbling away by itself, projecting images straight into Thorn's brain. Like he needs more of those. Though he seems to have progressed from random bar hopping to the one-night stands which…isn't much of an improvement.

Thorn stands by his first evaluation.

Dean Winchester is a bit of a man-slut.

Eventually Thorn has enough.

"Okay, so what now?" He asks.

Ash blinks and then grimaces. "Ah, right." He says and then clicks his fingers. Immediately there's a body lying on a marble alter between Thorn and Sam.

It can only be Dean.

Thorn rolls his eyes at the dramatics and strides over to stand next to the corpse. Sam mimics his actions, Ash following, until they're all clustered around Dean's head and chest.

Thorn glances from the soul to Dean to Sam and says, "With this, the deal is complete. You ready for that?"

Sam swallows, once and then nods determinately.

Thorn shrugs and, without further ado, shoves the soul back into Dean's chest.

Dean's whole body arches up, his eyes and mouth opening. Bright white light streams from underneath his skin, bleaching him until Thorn can see almost every bone in Dean's body.

It's almost _too_ bright, even for Thorn, and Ash grabs Sam and covers his eyes.

And then everything cuts out and Dean slumps back onto the table. Looking exactly like he did before he tried to emulate a disco ball.

No one moves.

"Dean?" Sam says tentatively, but there's no answer.

Huh.

Well that's…weird.

 _Something_ is supposed to be happening.

Ash glances at Thorn. "Maybe you put it in wrong?"

"It's not a fucking _battery!_ " Thorn snaps, "You can't just put it in _backwards!_ "

Ash looks like he's going to snap back when Dean gives a huge gasp and arches again, his eyes wide.

"Dean!" Sam calls, leaning over his brother, hands hovering, obviously wanting to touch but being unsure whether it would hurt Dean or not. "Dean."

Dean rolls over towards Sam, curling up on his side and begins to cough.

Sam gets over whatever reservations he's had and grips his brother's shoulder.

Dean's too busy coughing to say anything that will reassure Sam, but he reaches up and grips Sam's hand.

"Dean." Sam says again and, against all odds, Thorn feels something soften in his chest.

###

Despite everything, Dean is not happy when he finds out what Sam has done to save his soul.

Thorn would almost be amused by the brothers spat if not for one thing. Dean is trying to talk Sam out of going with Thorn.

"I can't believe you did this!" Dean says, waving his arms above his head.

It's about the fifth time they've gone through this argument and they both get more dramatic with each run through.

"It's not like I've sold my soul, Dean!" Sam points out.

"That's not the _point!_ " Dean waves his arms a bit more.

"I think that's _exactly_ the point, Dean!"

Thorn cannot help but notice that Sam flushes an interesting shade of pink when he's angry and or frustrated.

" _Sammy-_ " Dean says, but Sam has obviously had enough because he makes a slashing motion with his hand and cuts him off.

"Dean. You sold your _soul_ to _Artemis_." He says, jaw clenched, "All I've done is agreed to work for someone who has a group that _hunts demons_. Please explain to me how that is _any_ different to what we've been doing for the past how many years?"

Dean's jaw works in frustration as his hands drop back down to his sides. His shoulders are still tense and Thorn can see he wants to carry on trying to shout sense into his brother but has been thwarted by Sam's reasonable question.

Thorn leans closer to Ash, his arms crossed over his chest, and murmurs "It's almost as good as TV."

He totally deserves the dirty look Ash shoots at him.

Thorn grins and straightens, waiting to see where this argument will go next. He might not be happy with Dean right now, but he's secure in the knowledge that Sam knows he now belongs to him.

And Thorn knows that Sam will uphold his word.

"I'm not going to be there."

Dean's admission takes all of them by surprise.

Sam looks torn, frozen between hanging back and wanting to hug his brother who has hunched in on himself. "Dean…that's…"

Dean clears his throat and straightens, "Yeah, well…its true isn't it?"

Sam swallows and shoves his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders.

"You're going to be gone, Sam." Dean says quietly, "Working with these guys I know nothing about and I'm not going to _be_ there because, in case it's escaped your notice, I'm _human_ again. No more snazzy powers for me to help me keep up with you."

"That didn't stop you _before-_ " Sam says but Dean interrupts him with a sigh.

"It's different, Sam." He says seriously, "You've sold yourself to him and…damn it, I'm not going to be there."

Sam just stares at his brother helplessly, then he turns that gaze on Thorn who is _completely_ unprepared to deal with it. He fakes it pretty well though, if he does say so himself, by raising an eyebrow at Sam and saying, "Dean's human. There's nothing that interests me about him."

Dean flinches but pushes himself through it saying "See, Sammy? I'm not going to be allowed to be there for you now. _That's_ what's different."

Sam bites his lip and looks like he's rethinking the whole deal.

Oh no. Thorn cannot let him get away with this. Even though there's no way out he still doesn't want this sort of negativity from him.

He takes an abortive step forward and rubs a hand over his head. Damn it, how the fuck is this his life now? When had he actually started to _care_ about this type of crap?

Normally he'd just steamroll over anything that he didn't like and not care! But _oh no_ , not anymore!

He sighs and reluctantly says, "Well, it's not like I'm going to be keeping him locked away in my mansion all the time. He's going to need-" he has to swallow a few times to get the rest of the sentence out "-someplace to stay in the mortal realm."

Sam's answering smile _does not_ make up for that.

 _At all._

And Ash nudging him makes Thorn want to punch him in the face.

"Really?" Sam asks and _oh man_ is he screwed.

Thorn glares sullenly off to the side. "Yeah."

Dean's glancing between them, suspiciously, but he just nods and says "Alright then, let's go home. We should probably update Bobby."


	17. December 17th

_Something weird is going on._

That's Dean's first thought. And, as a first thought, it's a pretty good one, he thinks. Because it's true. Something weird is going on.

And he's not talking about dying, selling his soul, dying _again_ and being brought back to life.

No.

He's talking about _Sam_.

Sam, who, since getting back, has refused to look him in the eye.

It's the same kind of avoidance tactic he's used since he was a kid and hid the broccoli in his mashed potatoes. It's also accompanied by the guilty flush. Well, _a_ guilty flush at least, because this one is new and Dean hasn't categorised it yet.

He just hopes it's not related to anything sexual.

It's going to be related to something sexual. Because that's apparently how these thing work and Dean _does not_ need to know about any weird kinks his brother has discovered while he was dead _thank you very much._

Dean wonders if they'll finally need separate bedrooms.

Currently they're sitting back in the kitchen of their apartment.

Dean had offered to give up the place and get a motel room somewhere because he wasn't a Dark Hunter anymore and it didn't feel right using their stuff when he wasn't helping out.

Ash had pretty much vetoed the idea before he'd finished speaking, citing them as friends and morons and _just take it will you?_

Yes, Dean had maybe kept at the offering until Ash had snapped and Dean had heard exasperation. And if he'd also heard fondness in there as well? Well, Ash did think of them as _friends_ after all.

Or maybe that was just _Sam_.

Which brings him back to his original thought.

Something weird is going on.

Sam is sitting opposite him, worrying the bottom of his shirt between his fingers without even realising.

Holy shit. This thing is serious.

Dean has to do something.

"So…" He says, and watches as Sam squirms.

"So." Sam repeats and _still_ doesn't look Dean in the eye.

Dean decides he's going to go the big brother route and ask in the most obviously obnoxious and embarrassing way possible.

"You sleep with Ash and that Thorn dude?"

Dean's kind of proud at how badly Sam chokes on air. He only gets a little bit worried when Sam is still coughing five minutes later. But it's kind of worth it for the look Sam shoots him. Half offended, half guilt and Sam _totally did._

"Dude," Dean says, "when I said you gave yourself to him, I didn't think you actually _did_."

"I didn't!" Sam wheezes, rubbing the back of his hand over his cheek.

Liar.

"Liar." Dean says and Sam flushes.

"It was only a kiss." Sam says, uncomfortable squirming racketing up a notch.

Dean raises an eyebrow. He doesn't even need to say anything. He's perfected this technique over the years taking care of Sammy. Sam's practically got a Pavlovian response to it now.

Which is why, after only a few moments of being stared down, Sam lets out a little huff and his shoulders slump. "I thought he was a crossroads demon."

"Ash?"

Sam rolls his eyes, "No, Thorn." The _you idiot_ goes unsaid but not unheard.

"Hmm."

Dean doesn't say anything else. He just watches as Sam increasingly redder.

Eventually Sam snaps out a "What?"

Dean tries to hide his grin and fails miserably. "Nothing." He says, holding his hands up placating, "I just never thought you'd have it in you, that's all."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Two guys on the go at once." Dean sounds impressed, "You're finally following in my footsteps."

Sam's speechless, his mouth working and eyes wide. Dean stands and walks around the table, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder when he gets to him.

"I'm proud of you man," He says and keeps walking, not giving Sam any time to find his feet because where's the fun in that.

Dean can't resist one last dig and leans back until he can see Sam through the open doorway. "If you're gonna bang them then could you put a sock on the door? I don't need that kind of visual."

###

Bobby, quite rightly, is both confused and impressed by Dean's Jesus moment.

At least, that's what Dean thinks.

It's hard to judge though, because they're phoning him and Bobby is mostly just staying silent and letting Dean talk. Which Dean is doing a lot of. Even though he was dead for most of it.

The news of his new human status gets a huff.

Of fondness.

Not annoyance.

"So you're back to yourself then? No fangs? No weird aversion to silver or salt?"

"No Bobby," Dean sighs, mentally making a note to run through all the tests he can think of. It'd be just his luck that _something_ had gone wrong and he turned out to be not as human as he thought.

There's another huff and then Bobby asks the most important question. "So what you two boys doing then?"

Dean shifts, thankful that he's on the phone and Bobby can't see.

Yeah, when does that _ever_ work? Bobby seems to have a sixth sense for this kind of thing. But before Bobby can say anything Dean sighs.

"We've still got the apartment here." His lips quirk, "Ash was very insistent. And there are things here to hunt. People who have no idea what these daimons are and what they're capable of.

"And even if we can't take those on anymore, this place is practically a _ghost city_." He shrugs, "Me and Sam can always go do some ghost hunting."

Bobby grumbles too low for Dean to hear, but he can tell it's not a disparaging sound.

Eventually Bobby says, "Well, you know that if you ever need to take a break, you can still head on over."

It's ridiculous at the amount of warmth that curls through Dean's chest at that. The knowledge that he can _go home_.

Even though he knows that Bobby's was always open to him. It's nice to hear the invitation.

"Yeah Bobby, I'm sure we'll visit soon."

Dean's glad that Bobby doesn't say anything about how cracked his voice sounds.

###

Uriel appears in front of his brother in the cause without warning.

Zachariah doesn't jump. In fact he doesn't even turn to look at the other angel. Uriel is not offended. He knows that Zachariah is busy.

They are currently in an in-between space. It is where Zachariah can work on the cause without alerting the other angels to what he is doing.

The walls are blank and white, giving it a curiously detached and sterile feel to it, but the eye is immediately drawn to the big desk in the middle of the floor made from a dark wood. Behind it stand rows of pristine filing cabinets.

Uriel waits patiently for Zachariah to finish whatever he's doing. He's content. He knows patience.

It is a long ten minutes later when Zachariah finally turns to face him and the words he speaks make something cold lodge in Uriel's stomach.

"Dean is out of Hell."

His first thought is impossible. There is no way that the soul could have escaped. The second is that he's jumping to the wrong conclusion and Zachariah had decided against sending in the garrison to save him and had instead planned something more covert.

It's not the first time a garrison has been used as a cover for a more clandestine reason.

Zachariah's next words ruin that belief.

"The first seal hasn't been broken."

Uriel gives into temptation and closes his eyes for a moment and reruns the words over in his mind.

The first seal hasn't been broken.

Which means that Dean being out of Hell has ruined any and all plans for paradise on earth.

"Can we not get him to sell his soul again?"

Zachariah shoots him a poisonous look. "No. It won't work. They're protected by… _something_."

The admission does not improve the situation and Uriel wonders just _who_ pulled Dean Winchester's soul out of Hell.

Zachariah paces away from him so that he's standing facing away, his arms held behind his back.

"I trust you understand what this means, Uriel. Without the seal being broken we cannot proceed with our plans. We _needed_ Dean to break the seal." He turns, "Do you know how difficult it was to prevent the alarm being rung? I delayed as long as I could.

"Luckily this means that the others still don't know about the cause just yet. But now…" he trails off and Uriel gets the uncomfortable feeling that he's getting the blame for this.

"Fortunately," Zachariah says, before Uriel can do something stupid like grovel…or die, "there is another plan in the works. A back-up plan."

Uriel does not feel surprised at this. Zachariah is meticulous on the best of days. That he would have a fall back for something as big as this is not strange.

Neither is it strange that he has not heard of it before now.

Zachariah taps crosses his arms and starts to tap his fingers. It's a curiously human gesture and it makes Uriel weirdly apprehensive.

"There is much to do. Now that the chance of Dean breaking the seal is practically zero, we must carry on. I am putting you in charge of finding the one responsible for all this whilst I arrange the rest of our brothers to move so that plan B is successful.

"I will not wait any longer for this to take place. The others may be content to wait but the humans are a problem that needs dealing with now.

"The fact that they recognise this too is the only thing I admire about the demons."

Uriel bows to hide his shiver. "Yes, my brother."

"Uriel," Zachariah says slowly, enunciating the words so that it's finally clear how angry he is, "I want the name of the angel who pulled Dean's soul from perdition. And I want it now.

"We will make an example out of them."

"And Dean Winchester?" Uriel asks.

Zachariah stares Uriel straight in the eye. "Dean Winchester is no longer needed as the vessel. He does not need to be guarded any more. Do with him what you will."

Uriel nods and disappears away. Thoughts running through his head.

He knows only one angel that has questioned the validity of delaying Dean's rescue. Only one angel that would feel it is his duty to save Dean from Hell. And only one angel that is still influenced enough by his vessel that he would ignore sense and act in a manner totally inappropriate.

He is paying Castiel a visit.

###

When Uriel reappears again it is right in front of the very angel he wants to see.

However, unlike Zachariah who barely acknowledged his abrupt appearance, Castiel jumps and then looks guilty.

It is another mark on how he is failing to control his vessel's impulses.

It is another mark against his name.

Castiel does manage to get the body under control and wipe his expression. Uriel would have been fooled if he hadn't have been looking for it in the first place.

He is not even impressed by how quickly Castiel is learning. There is a reason that Uriel forbade Castiel to take his vessel long before Dean was to be pulled out of hell. It was so Castiel would be so distracted by getting control that he would not question the time delay.

But his plan obviously backfired.

Instead of fighting to regain control, Castiel seems to be _embracing_ it.

Disgusting.

And now, because of him, their plans have been ruined.

"Uriel," Castiel says. His voice toneless.

"Castiel. Dean Winchester's soul is out of Hell."

Castiel blinks and looks clueless, but Uriel sees the pleased relief passing through his eyes. There is confusion too but Uriel ignores that.

"That is…good." Castiel says, but he must have picked up on the mood Uriel is in because he hesitates and shoots a searching glance at him.

Uriel narrows his eyes and does not give him any indication as to what he is feeling. Castiel will fall on his own sword when he accidentally reveals his guilt.

"Shall I…" Castiel says hesitantly, "continue on with my duty?"

Uriel straightens his spine and stares down at the angel under his leadership. "Angel." He watches as Castiel flinches just slightly at the forgoing of his name, "You have gone against my orders."

Castiel's breathing picks up. "Uriel, I-"

"Do not think you can talk your way out of this, angel." Uriel cuts over him. "You know, I had high hopes for you. But now…"

"I," Castiel says hurriedly, "I do not know what you mean. I have not gone against orders."

Uriel scoffs and restrains himself from going for his sword.

"I ordered you to wait to rescue Dean and you didn't."

"Wait," Castiel says, and this time doesn't even _try_ to control his vessel's reactions, "wait, you think _I_ …?"

Uriel stares him down and Castiel bristles.

"I would never! Brother Uriel, I have not and will not go against orders. Why would you even...it is good that an innocent man is free but I _did not…_

"I did not go against orders. Surely you must believe me. I would not be able to battle the forces of Hell alone…"

Castiel's confusion is very believable.

And Uriel would believe it, if he didn't know that Castiel is working under the influence of human emotions and experience.

Disgusting, lying little creatures that try to blame others for their failings.

Uriel will be pleased when they are cleansed from this earth. His own vessel is starting to become restrictive as this farce gets dragged out.

But he is walking a thin line. He cannot just kill Castiel for his transgressions as others will start to question. And he will not draw any attention to the cause just yet.

Not whilst it is in such a delicate stage.

Their numbers are too few for it to be so accepted if it came to light now.

No, they will have to wait for more to join. Convince their brethren that this is God's Plan and Will.

Killing an angel for doing what they should have done will not go unnoticed and others will start to question. They may even begin to suspect.

That is why Uriel mimes relenting.

He will not forget this, though. And once they are free to act without fear of banishment from those that are too small-minded to see the truth in their actions, he will bring Castiel up to Zachariah himself.

For now though…

"I see."

Castiel is still looking confused and defensive, but he is slowly relaxing. He is probably thinking that this is all some sort of test designed to prove the depth of his loyalty.

"Are…my orders…?" He eventually asks.

Uriel lets the moment drag out, and then says "Your orders are the same."

And if his voice is colder than normal? Well, he'll let Castiel make of that what he will.

Besides, this will keep Castiel both distracted and out of the way of their new plans. He will not allow Castiel to ruin this again.

Uriel gives Castiel one last once-over before he leaves. It is pathetic how far an angel of his garrison has fallen.

He will draw out Castiel's punishment for this mark against him and his leadership.

Zachariah is not expecting results straight away. He does not know that Uriel had already figured out who had betrayed them, so he will not expect Uriel to drag the angel responsible to him for some time.

That gives him enough time to plan.

But first…he's going to pay a little hunter a visit to work off some frustration.


	18. December 18th

As soon as Uriel leaves, Castiel shivers.

What had that been all about?

His vessel's heart is still frantically beating and his breathing is coming in short sharp bursts. It is almost painful at how much Jimmy's body is overtaking him.

He is not gaining control, he is getting worse. And it is becoming painfully obvious that he is nowhere near ready to take over completely. Especially if events keep catching up with him.

And earth is not such a great place either. True his Father's hand can be seen in almost everything, but it is getting increasingly harder to focus on the beauty and majesty of it all when he is surrounded in squalor and hatred.

Castiel wants to go home.

He wants to be able to feel his brothers and sisters sing; the air vibrating with haunting echoes. He wants to be able to feel love and acceptance whenever he walks through the kingdom. He wants to be able to stretch out his grace without the fear of injuring innocent humans or losing control of his vessel. Again.

He wants to not be alone anymore.

But he can't. Because he has a duty.

A duty given to him by his Father at the time of his creation.

He has trained long and hard for this. Everything he is is this.

Dean Winchester needs protecting and guiding for when Michael shall walk the earth.

And _he_ is the angel to do that.

He cannot just give up his reason of being because he is unprepared.

No.

That is not who he is. Who he wants to be.

Dean still needs protecting. More so now than ever before as Castiel does not think the demons will take his escape from their clutches lightly.

And Dean has no idea that they will be actively seeking him out either. He may be prepared for some to follow and try to attack. But it is not _some_ he has to worry about. Dean's escape will have bruised the pride of possibly all the demon. Especially if they do not know how he got out.

Dean will not have one or two demons that just happened to be topside coming after him.

Dean will have the entire legion of Hell.

Dean will not be prepared for that.

He needs protection.

He needs _Castiel_ , even if Castiel will protect him from the shadows.

Decision made, Castiel straightens and tugs his coat back into position. He will protect Dean Winchester from the forces of Hell and anything else that may want to hurt him.

Castiel focuses and pins where Dean's current position is. Then he disappears with the rustle of wings.

###

Stryker is sitting on his throne and thinking on the report his squadron leader had given to him two days ago.

The preliminary had, ultimately been a success. Even though they had lost warriors.

Said warriors had not only gone up against Acheron and a Dark Hunter, but they had successfully battled with them long enough for his real squadron to attack a human weak spot.

And Acheron hadn't even known about it to stop it.

Which is…odd. To say the least.

Stryker knows about Ash's weakness. So someone with him at the time, or at the hospital, is important to the god. Important enough that Ash's entire view of the attack had been unobtainable.

That was…a strong relationship. And it was something he will have to think about; see if there was any way to figure out who it is and how to hurt them.

No blow is too low.

But while that is certainly interesting, it is not what is taking up his thoughts right now.

No, that award is given to the Dark Hunter and his… _companion._

At first Stryker had not believed the squadron leader as he described his attack being stopped by a being with power. A being that had appeared out of nowhere.

A being with wings.

But then he had described him so well that Stryker was forced to re-evaluate his disbelief and accept that the dark hunter had been protected.

The only question is is why a _dark hunter_ is being protected by an _angel._

Once a human leaves a pantheon, they revoke all rights of the beings _of_ that pantheon.

And someone selling their soul to Artemis definitely constitutes leaving the Christian religion.

So why was the angel there? Why was it protecting the hunter? Why is the hunter special?

Just what is going on?

Stryker rubs his forehead. He can feel the beginnings of a headache starting. He will need to feed soon.

His men in his advanced scouting party have been boisterous over the past day, drunk on their success and gorging on the souls at the hospital. The rest of his men have been both congratulatory and jealous in equal measures.

Stryker knows that they are clamouring to get out in the field. They wish for success too, and he cannot blame them for this.

But he cannot just send them out without knowing all the players in this game.

This time is not like that last. He will not be content to sit and idle away his forces as they attack one by one.

No. This time he will use his skills to rain havoc and destruction across the mortal realm.

What he is planning is big and bold and, if he manages to pull it off, will leave the humans reeling where they stand.

Acheron has been so proud, thinking that it is _his_ doing that is protecting the mortals, when really Stryker just has not had the motivation to use strategy and force.

But the pieces are slowly falling into place.

This person, that has blocked Ash so beautifully, is an unexpected but welcome pawn. Stryker can take advantage of this and increase his plans. Instead of just attacking America, he will attack the world.

Let Acheron try and stop that.

But the angel…the angel is a worrying development.

What do the angels have to do with the dark hunters. And will they intervene in Stryker's plans.

A clamouring from one of the hallways distracts him from his thoughts. Stryker straightens in his chair, looking for all the world like he isn't brooding or suffering from the biggest headache he's had in years.

Three daimons come crashing into the room. They are young and exuberant and so obviously punch-drunk that Stryker wants to slap them for interrupting him.

One of them glances up and spots the glare Stryker is levelling at them. He freezes and swallows.

Stryker feels pleased at the terror and awe he sees in the recruits eyes.

The other two haven't noticed him yet, but when their friend hits them none to gently, they complain and then look.

"Sorry!" They struggle to apologise and bow and run out the room at the same time.

It is almost comical how they start to trip over their own feet as well as each other. Unfortunately the noise they are making is just making Stryker's headache worse.

"Would you just _stop that?_ " He snaps.

The three daimons still immediately.

Stryker pinches the bridge of his nose.

The angel is a problem, yes. But there is a simple and elegant solution.

He will lead the charge against New Orleans and judge the situation if any occurs.

He turns his attention back to the three stooges cowering by the wall.

"Get my second here now. I have an attack to plan."

The daimons scrabble to do his bidding and Stryker sighs in relief when they finally disappear. Silence at last. At least for the moment.

Soon he will be caught up in arranging troop formations and doling out instructions.

Soon he will lead the charge against the humans.

Soon the greatest large-scale attack ever committed by daimons will begin and the mortal realm will shake in terror.

Soon, the night of blood will begin.

###

Sam had taken to the idea of hunting with a lot of enthusiasm.

Dean would be suspicious, but he sort of knew where Sam was coming from. It would be nice to finally feel like normal again. Feel like they did before all this happened.

They are both alive and both human.

And a hunt is just what they need to make them forget that any of the last year and a half has taken place.

It'll be just Dean and Sam and a gun full of rock salt. Just like old times.

True, Sam is technically under contract to the shadiest person Dean knows. But Thorn hadn't demanded anything off Sam before they left.

In fact, Dean would say that Thorn was rather _waiting_ on Sam.

And his brother is absolutely clueless about it. Which is tragic. Hilarious, but tragic.

Seriously, Dean doesn't know how Sam ever got laid, never mind managed to bag _Jess_.

Dean can only laugh from the side lines. He's not sure whether he wants to help or hinder this _thing_ that is going on. But he's decided to wait and see what Sam's feelings on the matter are.

Not that this makes him girly in any way, meddling in relationships and setting people up and what-not. But he's still an older brother and he can throw a bone his younger brother's way.

Or a boner as the case may be.

Okay, that was disgusting. Dean never wants to think that again. Neither does he want to picture that again because, just…no.

So, here they were in the kitchen, a pile of newspapers scattered across the table in front of them.

Dean's not really doing work though. True, he's sitting with a paper open on the table and a red marker pen spinning idly between his fingers. But he's not concentrating on the articles. Instead, all his attention is focused on his arm which is lying in a patch of afternoon sunlight that is streaming in through the open window.

Dean is enthralled.

He's never realised how much he missed the sun when he was a dark hunter.

It's never been something he's ever thought he _could_ miss.

But here he is, completely distracted by the warmth that is spreading across his skin. He's staring, he knows. But it's fascinating. Watching his skin shine almost gold, the light catching off the hairs turning them blond and silver.

If he was going to be poetic about it he'd say that it's almost like he can _see_ his skin tanning before his eyes.

But he's not poetic, so he'll just enjoy the light.

Dean is so caught up in it that he doesn't notice Sam's gaze. It's not a noise that alerts him to it, though, it's the absence of noise. Specifically, the squeaky scritch of pen on newspaper.

Dean glances up to see Sam with his eyebrow raised. He shifts in embarrassment at being caught.

"Dude, what?"

Sam holds his hands up, "Nothing man."

Dean huffs a little at the lie, but is grateful at the out so he doesn't call Sam on it.

He does, however, pull his arm from the patch of sunlight. Sam frowns at the action ever so slightly, but again, Dean isn't going to call him on it.

He likes his afternoons entirely free of chick-flick moments, thanks.

Sam doesn't seem to get the memo though and Dean mentally sighs when his brother looks between the light on the table and the window.

Oh great.

"You know," Sam says lightly, like Dean hasn't just watched him decide to do something girly and emotional, "it's a nice day today."

Dean stares at Sam blankly.

Really?

 _Really_ , really?

That's the best he can come up with?

If it is, it's pathetic. Dean decides to be awkward, just for the hell of it.

Well, that and it's going to take Sam a lot more effort to get Dean to participate in this kind of conversation sober and or not coming in off a traumatic and fatal injury.

"Yes."

Sam looks at him with pissy-face number four and Dean wants to cackle. He's forgotten how much he enjoys messing with his brother.

It's been a long time since a threat of one type or another hasn't been hanging over their heads.

Sam's tenacious though, and fully prepared to have this conversation.

"I was just thinking," Sam says, putting the pen down and closing the newspaper he's been trawling thought, "that it might be nice to go outside for a bit."

Dean slowly raises an eyebrow, in the most dramatic way possible of course. It's the look he perfected when Sam was in his early teens and hadn't wanted to tell Dean anything.

It's a look that says _I know what you're doing and you should think twice about continuing._

Sam, apparently, is going to make this happen one way or the other. Even with Dean being awkward about it.

"You've never seen New Orleans in the sunlight." Sam points out, "I can show you some nice places that I've found and we can go get something to eat."

"Don't we have food in the fridge?" Dean asks.

Sam's lips thin, "Well, yeah. But it's mostly salad."

And, okay, _that_ has Dean's attention.

"You bought _salad?_ " Dean asks, not even beginning to hide the horror from his voice.

Sam smirks, "I _like_ salad, Dean."

"But…no meat?"

Sam shakes his head, smirk widening. Dean can't believe it. Well, actually, Dean _can_ believe it because this is _Sam_ here. Sam who likes that sort of rabbit food and is always going on at Dean about how Dean's going to die of cholesterol or some shit like that.

Sam who has been in charge of the shopping for the past few months since Dean has been unable to go to the supermarket.

Sam who is plain evil wrapped up in his gigantor frame and puppy dog eyes.

Dean doesn't trust him _at all_ , which is why he gets up and goes to the fridge to check for himself.

He's horrified to find out that Sam is telling the truth. The fridge is mostly empty apart from salad and cottage cheese and some sort of dressing.

There is even _celery_.

Dean turns to shoot Sam a glare. Sam looks completely unrepentant.

"Dude, what _is_ this?" Dean says, motioning towards the non-meat taking up valuable fridge space.

There isn't even _beer_ for Christ's sake.

Sam shrugs, "It's healthy."

Dean is left speechless and Sam's smirk widens.

"You know," he says slyly, "we can pick up some stuff on the way home."

Dean looks at his brother feeling very unimpressed, though knowing he's been completely outmanoeuvred.

He's going to have to go along with Sam doing something nice for him because he's got no choice. Not if he wants to eat actual food sometime in the next few days.

"Fine." He says ungraciously, "We'll go to the store."

Sam grins brightly, knowing that he's won and not afraid to bask in it. "But first I want to show you this restaurant that I found. They make the _best_ beignets I've ever tasted."

A small part of Dean mourns the lack of diner food.

"Fine." Dean says again, knowing when he's lost. He straightens and closes the fridge with only one last mournful look inside at the horrible diet choices of his brother. "Food first and then shopping on the way back so we have _real_ food in the house."

"And we can even take some of the papers to look through while we're out!"

Dean just manages to resist groaning.

 _Just_.

Really, Sam is totally pushing it. And yet Dean can't help but let him get away with it because Sam is wearing such a grin that Dean hasn't seen in…years. And he can't take that away.

Crap. He's so screwed.

" _Fine._ " Dean says. And no, it is _not_ whining.

Sam's grin gets even brighter, if that isat all possible, and they both move to gather up the last of the papers that they haven't looked through yet.

Which is, of course, exactly the moment a very angry man appears in the middle of their kitchen and tries to run Dean through with a sword.


	19. December 19th

Dean yelps and dodges the swing, throwing his armful of papers out. They hit the man in the face and caused him to stumble.

Which is just as well, seeing as Dean leaps back and gets taken out by a chair.

Lying, winded on the ground, is probably not the best position to be in in this kind of situation Dean thinks.

He also thinks he should probably stand up and find something to defend himself with, but his body is being strangely uncooperative. What with the gasping for breath and oh, okay, there's a head wound as well.

Dean wipes the blood on his shirt as the papers flutter to the floor.

The man, and Dean's not sure that he _is_ a man, really, what with the sudden appearance and use of sword as a go to weapon, takes a step forward and raises his sword.

Dean can see the sunlight glint on the polished blade. It doesn't seem like such a good thing _now_ , but that might be because it's prettifying the thing about to kill him.

"Dean Winchester." The man says. Stating it like he knows who Dean is. Like he's _always_ known Dean and that's just a _little_ bit creepy.

"Hi there." Dean says with a grin.

It's the head wound.

It's _totally_ the head wound.

Okay, maybe it's just him being a bit of a dick. But hey! The guy's trying to kill him! Dean thinks he can be as much of an asshole as he wants.

"Prepare to d-" The man starts to say but gets cut off when a frying pan takes him out.

Dean blinks. His breathing coming easier now, enough so that he can scrabble to his feet. He looks to Sam who is staring at his outstretched hand like it has a mind of its own.

At this point in his life, Dean really wouldn't be surprised.

Sam looks at him, still shocked at what he's just done.

"Really?" Dean asks. Because…well… _really?_ It's the only question that he can think of, apart from "A frying pan?"

Sam shrugs slightly, "Worked, didn't it?"

Dean would answer, but the guy is back up and swinging. Literally.

Seems frying pans are no match against crazy sword wielding maniacs.

Dean scrambles back, this time not tripping over anything, dodging swing after swing.

"Sam!" He calls out as he ducks, barely in time.

The sword thunks into the doorframe and sticks. Jesus, it's gone in practically three inches. Dean's impressed, sort of, but he's also not going to stick around. Dean takes the opportunity to run into the living room whilst his would-be murderer struggles to free it.

" _Sam_." He calls again, just to let his brother know that, yes, he is still here and yes, he does have a crazy man trying to stab him so could Sam please hurry up and _do_ something about it?

"I'm thinking!" Sam shouts back from behind the guy who has managed to finally free his sword.

Dean is both pleased and annoyed that the man is completely ignoring Sam.

Pleased because Sam is his baby brother and having a sword wielding nut job after him would just be bad.

Annoyed because why do these things always happen to _him?_

For fucks sake.

"Well think faster!"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam says in exasperation, "I'll just get our handbook out shall I?"

Great. He's about to die and his annoying brother is being glib with him.

Why is this his life?

If the last thing he hears is Sam being sarcastic then he's going to come back, _again_ , and kill Sam himself.

"Or, you know," Dean snarks back, "you could just hit him with the frying pan again."

"Dean Winchester. You have ruined our plans for the last time." The man says as he settles into a stance.

Dean has a bad feeling about that stance. But it's not in his nature to back down to anything.

"Oh, I've messed up your plans have I?" He says as he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Well, good. Can't let the assholes have _all_ the fun now can we?"

The man glares at him and Dean tenses, preparing to leap out the way if necessary.

"And that is why you wi-" The man is cut off again when the frying pan collides with the back of his head.

Again.

He staggers forward and falls to one knee as the pan starts to batter him about the head and shoulders by itself.

Dean stares blankly at his brother who is still standing in the kitchen, separated from them by the solid presence of the table.

Sam shrugs back.

"Really?" He asks. Dean thinks it's deserved this time. " _That's_ an appropriate use of your mind powers?"

Sam smirks. "Well it's not like I want to get near him. He might stab _me._ "

Dean wants to stab Sam. Dean thinks Sam knows this because Sam's smirk widens into a shit eating and completely unrepentant grin.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"That. Is. _Enough!_ "

Dean and Sam both flinch and remember there is a man that wants to kill Dean in the room.

Said man in question is standing and breathing heavily, looking decidedly ruffled.

There's no sign of the pan. Then Dean spots it lying on the floor in a melted pile of slag.

Dean swallows. He doesn't think that _that_ was caused by Sam's powers.

Suddenly he doesn't want to go up against the man anymore. Not that he wanted to in the first place, mind you. But a man that can melt a frying pan without him noticing isn't at the top of Dean's hand shake buddies.

"Uh," Dean says edging away as surreptitiously as possible.

The man doesn't even try to say anything this time, just leaps across the coffee table that separate them, sword pulled back.

Dean jumps and rolls sideways, wishing for his favourite shotgun.

The man almost clears the table, but it suddenly lurches up two feet and catches him right on the shins. The man lets out a frustrated yell as he careens headfirst into the wall.

Dean glances up to see Sam standing in the doorway to the kitchen with his fingers to his temples.

Dean's about to tell him that he looks like a bit of a douche when _every single piece_ of furniture in the room starts to levitate.

"Whoa," Dean says instead, "cool."

Sam smiles, but it's strained and he's paling at a rapid rate. Dean would be concerned, but the man is up and coming at him again.

"Jesus." Dean says as he ducks and allows the sofa to swish over his head and slam into the guy, "Does he never give up?"

Sam doesn't answer. But that's more because he can't. He's leaning heavily against the doorframe now and there's a trickle of blood dripping from his nose across his lips and down his chin to his shirt.

Sam does grunt though when he loses control of the sofa and drops it on the guy, who cuts through it with his sword that _is now glowing_.

Holy shit.

Okay, Dean thinks, definitely not a regular human sword.

Some of the other bigger pieces of furniture are also starting to sag in the air, scraping across the ground.

It's obvious that, while Sam has been practising, he hasn't got full control of his powers just yet. Using them more like battering rams than anything else.

But it's still damn impressive.

Dean gets ready for another lunge, but the man has turned to face Sam with hate on his face.

"You," he says and Dean instantly wants to kill him for threatening his brother. The feeling gets worse when the man lunges at Sam and Sam is too weak to do anything but widen his eyes at the speed.

Dean doesn't even let out a yell, he just spear tackles the man mid-leap and sends them both into a lamp that's still struggling to float.

The man lands heavily on it and Dean feels it break beneath his weight.

That's gotta hurt, he thinks. But the man doesn't even seem to notice it which is just…wrong.

Dean's so distracted by this thought that he doesn't brace in time, so when the man arches up beneath him, Dean is thrown to the side. The man rolls on top of him and straddles him, lifting up his damn sword again.

Seriously, Dean's getting kind of sick of this.

But he's not going to go out without a few swings of his own. Dean pulls his fist back ready to try and get a punch to the face, and banishing all thoughts of déjà vu from his head, when the man mutters something unintelligible and Dean suddenly finds himself pinned to the floor.

The man glares down at Dean whilst he stands.

"I didn't want to do that," He says, "As it will alert my brethren, but at this point…" he trails off with a snarl and Dean's eyes widen when he finds he can't even squirm away from the point of the blade.

The man stabs down and it's all Dean can do to keep his eyes open.

He will not die with his eyes closed.

He doesn't have to.

There is a loud metallic clang as another sword appears just out of the periphery of his sight and knocks the first sword from stabbing Dean through the chest.

"Uriel." A voice says, and _holy shit_ it gives Dean shivers.

The man who's been trying to kill Dean for the past ten minutes snarls and whirls on Dean's still unseen saviour.

"Castiel, what do you think you're doing?"

"I think that's a question _I_ should be asking _you_."

And then it's just movement. Uriel darts across Dean's still prone form and there's a series of metallic clashes as the two men fight.

Dean hopes the guy with the voice wins. That voice should not be allowed to just not exist.

"You are going against the plan!" Uriel practically shouts, tension making his voice waver.

In contrast, Castiel's voice is calm and controlled. "I am following the orders Our Father gave me."

There's the sound of splintering and suddenly Dean finds he can move again. He rolls quickly out of the way of the sounds of the swordfight, keeping his head down in case he's misjudged it and the blades are swinging a lot closer than he believes.

He crawls over to Sam, who's slumped on the floor and staring at the fight looking completely stunned.

Once Dean's crawled past him and dragged his unresisting brother further into the kitchen and out of the way of any sharp instruments, he turns to see what Sam is staring at.

And then promptly finds out why Sam is so enthralled.

The two men are little more than blurs, coming together and leaping apart. Their swords flashing in the dying afternoon light as they each try to kill the other.

Or at least, that's what it looks like to Dean.

There's a brief moment when their swords lock with an explosion of sparks and Dean gapes.

The man! Castiel! It's the same person who appeared out of nowhere and saved Dean getting stabbed by the daimon.

This is the second time he's saved Dean's life. Dean only hopes he's not keeping a tab.

Only…it's _not_ the same guy. Because the first one glowed and had _wings_ and this man most certainly _doesn't_. Unless he's hiding them somewhere.

"Stand down, Castiel." Uriel says.

Castiel tilts up his chin at the taller man, "Never."

Uriel's lips pinch together and he shoves with his sword, sending Castiel backwards. "Then you shall die."

Castiel just drops into a stance, sword at the ready and looking completely unperturbed at the thought of imminent death.

"No, Uriel. You are going against Father's will. Give this foolishness up."

Uriel laughs and flicks his blade. "You do not know _what_ Father's will is, Castiel. You have been following my orders for far longer than you think."

Dean see's Castiel hesitate.

"The rest of our brothers and sisters will see the way," Uriel continues, "do not be a fool, Castiel. I am your leader, you are supposed to follow me."

There's a tense silence and Dean wonders in his saviour is going to listen to that bullshit and turn on the two of them. The longer nothing happens, the more relaxed Uriel is becoming, feeling safe in the knowledge that he's managed to get through to the other.

Dean is just about to start searching for a weapon of some sort – which really, is kind of a stupid idea because hello! Swords! – when Castiel's Will hardens and he says, with an air of determination, "The only one I follow is my Father." And _flies_ forward at such a speed that Dean's eyes can't process it.

One moment he's standing on one side of the room, the next Castiel is in front of Uriel with his sword piercing the taller man's heart.

Uriel has only a moment to look surprised before his eyes roll up in his head and he falls backwards.

When he hits the floor there's a blinding flash of white light and Dean instinctively closes his eyes. He can still feel them searing through his eye lids.

He blinks them open a minute later. And then keeps blinking to get the spots out of his vision.

The first thing he sees is Sam doing the same.

And then Dean realises that there's still a man with a sword in his living room. Sam seems to realise the same thing as they use each other to stand and shakily make their way to the doorway to see the damage.

And there's a _lot_ of damage.

Sam is still a lot worse off than Dean and _still_ bleeding from the nose, so Dean helps prop him up against the door jamb again, and then turns his attention to the man who keeps saving him.

Castiel.

Castiel who is, against all odds, standing in the middle of the warzone that used to be Dean's very nice living room and staring back at him.

"Uh." Dean says.

"Are you hurt?" Castiel asks.

Dean wants to immediately deny any and all injuries, but he doesn't think he can get away with it this time. The man's clear blue eyes seem to compel him to tell the truth.

And no, it's got nothing to do with how nice those eyes look when they're staring at Dean.

So Dean takes a few seconds out to catalogue all the pain he can feel. It's surprisingly little for what he's just been through.

"Nope." He says, "All good. Now who the hell are you? This is the second time you've saved my life now."

Castiel inclines his head a fraction and relaxes.

"My name is Castiel." He says solemnly, "And I am an Angel of the Lord."

Sam sucks in a shocked and awed breath besides him and Dean wants to laugh because of course – _of course_ – this happens to him.

Three months ago he would have laughed at anyone who told him they'd seen an angel. Angels don't exist.

And then he'd sold his soul to a goddess and fought things that he'd never knew existed. And he's _seen_ Castiel wings with his own eyes.

It's kinda hard to argue against yourself.

"Okay," Dean says, pleased with how well he's taking this, "but why me?"

Castiel takes a step forward. "Because you are the reason I exist." He says, which does all sorts of weird things to Dean's stomach and _dude!_ People don't just _say_ those sorts of things!

Except Dean doesn't get the chance to say anything because suddenly there's another flash of light – this one not nearly as blinding as the first – and Thorn is standing in their living room.

"Alright," Thorn snaps, "Just what is going on here? Why am I getting all sort of weir-" he cuts himself off when he finally focuses on the room.

Dean has to admit, it doesn't look good.

As well as every single piece of furniture being broken, there are sword slashes marring the walls and floor.

Thorn's eyes scan over the room with a weird sort of horrified awe and then he reaches Sam, who is slumped and shaking and wearing a shirt stained with blood, and then his attention jerks to the only other person in the room who, coincidentally, is the only one with a weapon.

Castiel's eyes widen.

Thorn's eyes turn blood red.

Dean is not surprised when Thorn manifests his own sword and charges.


	20. December 20th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OA3dPECSHEw&feature=g-u&context=G29039a1FUAAAAAAAIAA

Castiel doesn't speak or make any kind of embarrassing noise when confronted by a very pissed off…something. He just raises his sword and meets Thorn blow for blow.

He starts out well, able to hold his own, but he's been fighting for far longer and Thorn seems possessed by something other than anger.

It's more like rage, Dean thinks. Pure, unadulterated rage. And it's being directed all at one person. Which is just unfair because Castiel hasn't done _anything_ to hurt them and yet Thorn is still attacking.

Which is…weird, Dean thinks. Because why would Thorn be this emotional? Where is Thorn getting this sort of determination from? It's not _his_ apartment that's been trashed.

If anything, it should be Dean and Sam who are angry. Or even Ash, because technically, it's still his place. And it's already been trashed once this night by two angels going at it in their living room. Seriously, Dean can't even _begin_ to pick out the small chunks of plastic that was once their very big, very expensive television set with surround sound.

There's a small part of Dean that mourns that high definition set up. The same small part that likes watching skin flicks late at night – _which_ Dean had argued, is a perfectly reasonable time to be watching them.

He totally and completely ignored Sam's arguments that due to his now nocturnal schedule, the middle of the night is now the middle of the day and _Dean would you get off your ass already? I don't want to walk in on that sort of thing!_

But Dean doesn't feel angry. He doesn't feel anything except shock because _what the fuck_ is happening right now?

Dean grabs Sam and drags him back into the kitchen. He'd like to help apart from the part where he's still _human_ and has no powers and, oh yeah, doesn't even have a _sword_.

Still, he feels kind of crappy leaving Castiel in there, fighting for his life.

And Dean's not deluding himself. Thorn is one determined son of a bitch and Castiel, even if he can handle himself, will not be able to hold up to him.

Dean sighs. At the moment, there's nothing he can do except take care of his brother and hope that they've left some sort of outside line in here so they can phone Ash.

Ash will help.

Ash _has_ to help.

Dean manages to get them both into the kitchen without any real mishaps apart from one very close call with a fireball and _Jesus shit_ when had Thorn been able to toss around those things?

Ah, the kitchen. The welcome resting place of the perpetually attacked. Home to the calming coffee and nerve reviving chocolate biscuits.

Dean likes this room, really he does. It just sucks that Dean's seen more of this room since he's been back than any other room in the apartment.

If Dean's had any choice in the matter he would have seen nothing of this place except for his bed. Maybe the shower.

Dean wouldn't have minded the shower.

Sam is still bleeding and doesn't even seem to notice. Dean grabs the nearest dishcloth and dabs at Sam's face, pressing it against his nose.

Sam blinks and looks at Dean, and then reaches up and holds the cloth to his face when he realises what Dean is doing.

Once Dean sees that Sam is maybe, sort of, under his own control for the moment, he gets up and sidles towards the empty doorway. The sound of destruction is still ringing loudly through the apartment.

Dean is so glad they have soundproofing. He doesn't even _want_ to know what the old lady downstairs would be thinking about all the racket.

Probably some sort of harem orgy.

An all-male orgy.

Dean shivers as Sam comes up behind him, cloth still pressed to his face, and peeks out into the living room to see the damage.

What he sees leaves him cold.

Thorn is standing over an unarmed Castiel, who is lying on his back and wearing an expression of such hopelessness that Dean wants to rush over and wrap him up.

And then Thorn raises his sword and Dean finds himself moving anyway.

The next time Dean is really, fully aware of where he is and what he's doing is when he realises that he's standing in front of Castiel between him and Thorn's sword and he's probably going to die. But Sam is there. Sam is holding onto Thorn from behind and muttering quietly into Thorn's ear. And it's too quiet for Dean to hear properly but Dean doesn't know if that's because Sam is really fucking quiet or if his words are being drowned out by the roaring in Dean's ears.

Dean stays tense, crouching lightly between Thorn and the man who has saved him.

Saved him _twice_ and that fucking means something damn it! Okay? Okay.

Whatever Sam is doing seems to be working and Dean watches as Thorn steadily relaxes his sword hand so his knuckles weren't a complete bone white pressing through his skin.

Dean relaxes with him, but not as _fast_ as him, Dean still needs to be able to move and stay in position if Thorn decides to snap again.

But Sam doesn't leave. In fact, Sam gently tugs Thorn further away from Dean and Castiel, back to the furthest corner of the room. He's still muttering quietly but Thorn seems absorbed in what Sam is saying right now so Dean thinks it worth the risk to check on the man, angel, whatever, behind him.

Dean is completely unprepared to see Castiel still lying and looking at him with such naked wonder in his face that Dean's heart forgets to beat for a few seconds.

He offers down his hand, which Castiel stares at like no one has ever done for him before. It makes Dean flush with warmth as the way Castiel is so wrong-footed over such a simple gesture. And it also makes Dean feel cold because if Castiel isn't expecting anything like this, then just _what_ has his life been like before?

Dean can deal with angels. What he _can't_ deal with is anything like this.

Castiel's hand in his distracts him from his thoughts. The skin is warm and soft and Dean can feel Castiel's pulse flutter rapidly against his fingertips.

Dean pulls him up and Castiel is lighter than he expected because he comes off the ground easily and Dean almost doesn't have time to brace before he suddenly has an armful of surprised angel.

It's enough that even _he_ has to take a moment to appreciate it.

He glances over his shoulder to Sam who shrugs helplessly. Dean sighs lightly and fishes out his cell phone.

###

Ash takes one look at their apartment and says "You know, if you guys had wanted to redecorate then you could have just bought decorations. You didn't need to destroy the old stuff."

Which, really, would have been _hilarious_ except for the part where Dean is still acting like a human shield to an angel and Sam is acting like a human security blanket to a…

Well, Dean doesn't really _know_ what Thorn is.

Ash's lips twitch and he sighs melodramatically at the silence.

And then he clicks his fingers and _everything_ is fixed and back into its proper place. Like two sword fights hadn't just occurred in an enclosed space filled with very breakable things.

The TV set is fixed, so Dean thinks at least _something_ is alright. Then he gets a closer look at what's been changed and _ha ha_ Ash is such a _joker_ because Dean's pretty sure that they hadn't decorated for Christmas before angels took exceptions to his sofa and came down from on high to smite it.

Everything is done in dark woods and deep red and greens. There are gold garlands and tasteful decorations hanging on the wall.

Dean hopes they aren't real gold. But when it comes to Ash…

There's a fire crackling happily away to itself in the fireplace.

The fireplace that they _didn't have_ five minutes ago.

Sometimes, no wait, make that all the time, Ash scares him.

But the decorations aren't all that's new. On the coffee table is an arrangement of food and wine. _Wine_. Not even a beer in sight.

That's it. Ash read his mind and is doing this on purpose just to fuck with him. Who drinks _wine_ for Christ's sakes?

Apparently everyone apart from him. Well, him and Castiel it seems. And really he should _not_ be surprised by some of the habits his brother has but…come on!

Sam sees the look Dean gives him as Sam sits down and throws his own bitch face back. And then, obviously just to fuck with Dean's head, takes a pointed sip of his wine and ignores the way Dean would like to call his brother out but _can't_.

There's something else bugging Dean about this whole setup and that's Thorn.

Thorn who, apparently for some reason Dean can't figure out – or _can_ but just doesn't want to because that shit'll mess up his head – is sitting very close to Sam.

Very, _very_ close.

Okay. So he's practically pressed against him. _And_ Thorn is watching his baby brother drink like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. In front of Dean.

Dean wants to punch him.

Thorn spots the glare Dean is levelling at him and smirks – _smirks!_ – shifting even closer and picking up his own wine glass as if to say _there's no need to be ill refined._

Dean _really_ wants to punch him.

Dean, however, is distracted by the angel who is currently sitting next to him when said angel lightly brushes the tips of his fingers across Dean's throat.

Dean jumps and jerks around to find Castiel looking at him with such seriousness that his breath catches. And wasn't _that_ a ridiculous thought?

Dean clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. When that doesn't seem to work, he puts down the sandwich he's just picked up and says "What?"

Castiel blinks and, for a long moment, Dean doesn't think he's going to answer. And then Castiel says, quietly like there's only the two of them in the room, "I'm glad that you do not carry her mark anymore."

Dean chokes, and he's not the only one it seems as the coughing from the other sofa proves that Sam has been listening in, and feels his face heat. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment. But whether he's uncomfortable at what's been said, or that others heard it, is up for debate.

"Uh." Dean says, "Thanks. I guess."

Castiel smiles then and Dean wants to roll his eyes at himself and the way his body is reacting.

Great. This's just…great.

Sam, who by this time has finished coughing, clears his throat and sets his glass down on the table. On a _coaster_ Dean notices.

Seriously, just…where did Dean go wrong?

"So," Ash says, breaking across Dean's mourning, "what happened?"

Dean and Sam glance at each other, trying to force the other to start talking using nothing but the power of their eyes.

After a minute of silence Ash sighs and leans back in his chair, his wineglass dangling almost precariously from his fingers. Dean would be worried about it if he hadn't seen what Ash has just managed to fix in less than ten seconds.

"I'm waiting…" Ash says and Dean sighs.

Sam throws him a triumphant look and leans back, right against the arm Thorn has _oh so casually_ slipped along the back of their sofa.

Thorn glares at Dean, challenge in his eyes.

Dean glares right back, challenge accepted jackass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Ill. Need hugs.


	21. December 21st

"Sam is hurt."

Thorn's voice is low and dangerous and Dean would shiver, except that the words don't really match up to the level of violence promised. Because, yeah, there's that whole _I will rip out your spine_ aspect, but Thorn has just said he attacked because Sam was hurt.

Which is _totally_ not what Dean was expecting of the asshole. Except for the part where he's not really surprised because Thorn is a jealous little fuck and Dean is totally getting that now, thanks.

Sam isn't though, as he makes a little noise of annoyance and leans forward.

Dean should not find it funny how put out thorn looks as Sam unintentionally moves out of his sort-of but not quite hug. Or properterial claim or whatever the fuck sort of animal mating ritual he was performing.

But he does. It's hilarious. Dean doesn't even care that Thorn spots his shit-eating grin and shoots him a glare that would have Dean wondering after his life if he wasn't so sure that he was pretty much free from any and all physical hurt.

Because Thorn was whipped by his brother. And Sam would never ever forgive Thorn if he hurt Dean.

Ergo total immunity.

Thorn's glare increases as if he can read Dean's mind. Dean doesn't know if that's actually true – but he wouldn't put it past him Mr I Throw Fireballs – or if Thorn's just been clued in by the giant fucking grin on Dean's face.

Dean shivers. Okay, maybe not _total_ immunity.

Dean's pretty sure that Thorn can come up with a way to make his life a living hell without Sam ever finding out.

Hell, Dean's pretty sure that Thorn can come up with a way to screw him over whilst making it look like he's doing Dean a _favour_.

The bastard.

Dean _does not_ want to have his life turn to shit and then Sam thanking his tormentor by doing…well, Dean's not going to go there. But it's safe to say that the answer's no. Just no.

"I," Sam says, breaking across Dean's thoughts, "was not _hurt_."

Everyone stares at him and then drop their gazes to the blood spattered shirt Sam is wearing.

Sam immediately gets flustered and edges forward on his seat even more, turning to give Ash a beseeching look.

"I _wasn't_ , Ash. It was just a nosebleed I got from using my powers too much."

Ash blinks, "Wait, what? Powers?"

Sam gives him a weird look but brushes it off, "Yes, powers."

This time it's Ash who leans forward, looking at Sam with interest. "You have powers?" He sounds awed and Sam flushes a little.

"Oh, well…um. I mean…they're not that…impressive…" Sam says.

Dean snorts and cuts across his brother before he can belittle what he did any more. "Not that impressive? Dude! You levitated everything in the room! The kitchen too and I wouldn't be surprised if you hit up the bedrooms as well."

Sam's flush darkens under Dean's praise and Dean belatedly realises that he's probably never praised Sam for his powers before. Which was _stupid_ he's now realising, because Sam never even thought about hurting Dean when Dean was given fangs and powers.

Yeah, Sam had been confused and wary, but as soon as Dean had spoken he'd settled in and just took it without batting an eyelash. Like Dean was still Dean even though he'd been turned into some sort of pseudo-vamp.

And Dean…Dean hadn't ever done that. Not even after he'd got his own weird mind powers.

What was worse is that Dean sold his soul for them, whereas Sam had them forced on him.

If anything, that makes Dean more of a monster than Sam would ever be. Even if he'd never actually wanted extra powers to begin with.

Dean's been a crappy brother for that and he can't believe it's taken him this long to realise it.

He's going to have to say something to Sam. Something about how Dean thinks what he's doing with his powers is good and how proud Dean is of Sam making the best with what he's been forced into.

But not here and not now. Dean can maybe, sort of handle shit like this when he's alone. But not when he's in the room with other people, half of them strangers.

"You can _levitate_ things?" Ash asks, and draws Sam's attention back like a light to a moth.

Sam, who is still flushed, ducks his head and gives a half-shrug and a little smile. "Um, yeah, Dean's been teaching me a little bit of control…"

And then they're off in their little world, the one that's filled with all sorts of weird babble and jargon that Dean can't follow.

Dean rolls his eyes and leans back. From experience he knows that this will take a while and he's prepared to wait it out.

Thorn isn't though, Dean notes with barely concealed amusement.

Thorn is sitting stiff and straight and is alternatively glaring at the back of Sam's head and Ash. Eventually he settles on turning his full attention on Ash and the glare increases.

Ash doesn't even notice.

Dean wants to laugh so fucking hard that he gets stomach cramps trying to stop himself. There are literally tears in his eyes when Thorn's fingers starts to twitch.

Sam and Ash are talking about applications and testing Sam's powers and all sorts of stuff about checking ancient texts written in languages that haven't been spoken in about ten thousand years when Thorn cuts in with a "Well, _I_ can speak Enochian."

Dean almost _dies_.

Sam and Ash stop talking in surprise and Sam turns to face Thorn, who is looking distinctly uncomfortable at having interrupted them, especially when Ash slowly raises an eyebrow.

"Can you really?" Sam asks, awe in his voice.

Dean has to close his eyes and turn his head away when Thorn looks both pleased and embarrassed. Dean's shaking so hard that it takes him a while to realise that he's pressed his face into Castiel's shoulder to muffle the little hiccups of laughter that keep trying to escape.

"Um…yes." Thorn says.

"Can you teach me?" Sam asks, edging closer to Thorn.

Dean's breath stutters and he barely feels the hand that awkwardly pats him on the shoulder.

"I… _yes_ -"

"No."

The denial is swift and stern and it takes everyone a moment to realise that it's just come from _Castiel_. The same Castiel who's been silent for the entire conversation so far.

Dean lifts his face from Castiel's side and looks at him in part-amazement, part- _are-you-crazy?_

Castiel isn't looking down at him though; he's glaring at Thorn who is quite rightly glaring back.

"Listen here, _angel_ -" Thorn starts but Castiel cuts him off and _holy shit_ that shouldn't be as hot as it is.

"Enochian is the language of angels."

"Yeah?" Thorn sneers as Sam gasps and moves back from them.

"Teaching it to a human is sacrilege." Castiel isn't backing down. In fact, he looks ready to pull his sword out again if Thorn isn't going to comply. Dean likes that.

"I…don't want to get anyone into _trouble…_ " Sam says hesitantly, as if he hadn't been ready to do almost anything to get Thorn to teach him two minutes ago.

"No, Sam." Thorn says, "It's okay, I can do what I want. I'm not going to get into trouble."

It's probably not the best thing to say in front of Castiel, Dean thinks, as the angel is now practically vibrating with tension.

"It is against the _rules._ " Castiel says.

"Yeah, well," Thorn smirks, "I'm not exactly in on your _rules_ , am I?"

"You are an angel." Castiel says and wait, what? When had _that_ happened?

Thorn was an angel?

Thorn's smirk drops and now he just looks pissed. Dean wants to both edge away from the object of his rage, which would be Castiel, and edge closer to protect Castiel from the crazy homicidal newly-discovered angel in their midst.

"I am _not_ -" Thorn starts to say but Castiel cuts him off _again_. And seriously, why does everyone Dean know and start to like suddenly develop suicidal tendencies around him? Is it him? It's him, isn't it.

"You are an angel." Castiel deadpans, "You may be the son of Lucifer, but you are still an angel."

Sam's eyes are wide. For that matter, so are Dean's.

"The…the son of _Lucifer?_ " Dean manages to choke out.

Dean is having a lot of thoughts on his stepping back and letting Sammy maybe have a relationship with this guy. Hell, Dean's rethinking the whole Sammy _working_ for this guy.

And Ash knew! Ash _had_ to have known because Ash seems to know about anything and _Jesus!_ Dean had thought Ash _liked_ his brother and here he is, stepping back and letting Thorn get all nice and cosy with him.

"It's not what you think." Thorn says sharply and Dean bares his teeth and practically _snarls_ as he works out the best way to get Sam away from Thorn.

"It's not what I think?" Dean spits, "You're the freaking _Anti-Christ!_ "

Thorn glares, "That is wholly dramatic. I am _not_."

"Oh," Dean says, "I think you are. I think the books are _very_ clear on that."

"What do you even know about books," Thorn snaps, "You've never read a book in your life."

"I read!" Dean's on his feet now, matching Thorn who stood up as soon as he moved. "I've read enough to know that you're not all puppies and flowers to humans. Fucks sake! You're supposed to _end the world!_ "

"I don't care what your little book says!" Thorn is practically shouting, in the sense that he's not restrained and his eyes are glowing a hellish red. "Do you think I care what a bunch of _humans_ wrote about something they know _nothing about?_

"Yeah," Thorn continues and throws a sneer Dean's way, "I'm the son of the biggest asshole this side of Christianity, but I'm _nobody's_ bitch.

"You can't choose your parents or, trust me, I would _not_ be having anything to do with…with _this_." He gestures at Ash and Castiel. "You think I _like_ knowing what my father has planned? Do you know how hard I have worked to set up the Hellchasers to _fuck up_ any plan my father or his _god damned_ minions think up?

"No, no you don't. So I'll thank you kindly to _shut your mouth_ on things you don't understand because I've worked _too damn hard_ to protect bastards like you for absolutely nothing for you to get to run your mouth off at me, you hear?"

Dean's mouth works for a moment but he can't find anything to say to that because it _sounds_ true. Even though Dean knows that having something _sound_ true and it actually _being_ true are two different things.

"Dean…" Sam says quietly, "maybe we should give him a chance…"

And Dean sees the way Thorn's shoulders relax slightly as Sam accepts him for what he is.

Dean isn't happy.

He's not happy by a _long_ shot.

But Sam is ready and willing to let Thorn prove himself and really, Thorn hasn't done anything that evil. Yet.

"I wouldn't have brought Sam to Thorn if I thought he was a danger, Dean." Ash says softly.

No, Dean wants to say, but you would if you thought you could protect him.

"Fine." Dean spits out because Sammy has to _work_ with this guy. "Fine." He glares at Thorn though, knowing his eyes say _if you mess up my brother I will end you._

Thorn tilts up his chin in a challenge, but there's the hint of respect in his gaze. Layered under all the contempt that is.

Dean doesn't care, he's dealt with guys like this before, and he's sure to deal with more of them during his admittedly shortened human-again life-span.

He sits down slowly, Thorn mirroring him.

"Besides," Thorn can't seem to help adding, "I'm the prince of the earth. Why the fuck would I end it?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Please," he says, and if their conversation's starting to sound a lot like banter well…

Sam is glancing nervously between the two of them, but he's slowly starting to relax when it becomes obvious that they're not going to start ripping each other apart.

"Um, I really don't need to learn it." Sam says to Castiel. "I was just curious about it, is all."

Dean feel Castiel relax next to him.

"Thank you." Castiel says quietly, talking over Thorn's huff, "It is…"

Sam smiles, "That's okay."

"Right," Ash says after a moment or two where everyone settles down, "well, I don't think we can get any more aggressive if we tried."

Which is the exact moment when a _very_ pissed of goddess appears in the middle of the room and pins Dean with a glare.

Sometimes Dean hates his life.


	22. December 22nd

"You." Artemis says, pointing at Dean. She's staring at him with a single-focus intensity and there's some sort of power or something crackling around her.

Man, Dean wants to revise his idea of 'very pissed off' to 'uncontrollable rage' because seriously? Dean doesn't think that people are supposed to be bathed in lightning unless they can't help themselves.

Or they're trying to be overly dramatic. But seeing as how Artemis is ignoring everyone else and isn't doing the whole monologue thing that overly dramatic people sometimes do when they grandstand, Dean is going to have to go with uncontrollable.

It helps when he notices that she's trembling lightly.

Dean holds his hands up in surrender. He's not quite sure what he's done but he's not sure he wants to find out.

He may not have a choice.

"Me." Dean says and _god damn it_ why does he always have to antagonise people?

The crackling power around Artemis condenses and Dean feels the hairs on his arm rise.

Yeah, he probably totally deserved that.

"You. You _stole-_ "

And wow, Artemis is so pissed off that she can't even finish her sentence. Dean thinks that maybe he's in over his head here.

Maybe.

Just a little.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean protests, "I didn't steal anything!" He pauses, "What didn't I steal?"

"Your _soul_." Artemis spits out.

Damn, okay. Maybe Dean is screwed here. He mentally calculates the chances of Artemis believing him when he tells her that he _didn't_ steal his soul and comes up with a mournful zero.

Especially not with the way she is glaring at him.

Dean stands slowly and edges around the back of the sofa. It's a risky move but he's pretty sure that Artemis _won't_ kill him. Much.

At least, he's pretty sure until he notices that everyone else is standing and Thorn and Castiel both have their swords out.

Oh man, he is so totally screwed.

"Artemis-" Ash says quietly from behind her.

Artemis turns on him with a snarl so vicious that Ash sways back for a moment. Dean would feel bad but he's just glad that her attention isn't on him anymore. He takes the opportunity to sidle more fully around the seat.

"Don't." Artemis spits, "Don't you _dare_."

Ash seems taken aback. But whether that is because of the venom in her voice, or the way that she's just blown out a window without even realising is hard to tell.

"Artemis." Ash tries again, slower this time, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for his soul." She says, gesturing at Dean.

"Wait, what?" Dean says and then immediately regrets it because _good going idiot_ he's just drawn her attention back to him.

At least Thorn is standing in front of Sam.

At least Sam is letting Thorn protect him.

Dean wants to sigh at how he's all alone and probably going to be a gooey smear on the wall any minute now, when something bumps into his arm.

It's Castiel and he's glaring at Artemis.

"You will not take his soul."

Artemis snarls at Castiel this time. Dean has to tamper down the instinctive reaction to step in front of the angel. One, because said angel has a sword and Dean doesn't and a sword is going to be more help against anything that Artemis might throw at him than not. Two, because Dean is _human_ right now and Castiel…well, isn't. And neither is Artemis. And there's more chance of Castiel winning this fight than Dean, as loath as Dean has to admit.

"Don't even _start_ angel." Artemis sneers, "It's _your_ pantheon that twisted the rules in the first place."

"I have no idea what you mean." Castiel says and raises his sword higher. Not enough that it's deliberately a threat, but enough to show that he can and will defend.

Artemis sneers at him. "Oh _really_ , like you didn't know a demon snuck into my temple and stole one of _my_ souls."

There's a shocked silence. Dean almost groans, because _of course_ this has happened. When has he ever been able to stay out of the way of anything supernatural.

But he's not one to sit back and let them argue about him without adding his two cents. Besides, he's not too sure about how much he likes the possessive way Artemis is talking about _his_ soul.

"Well," Dean says, to diffuse the tension, "it's not _your_ soul anymore. It's mine. As it's quite clearly in _me_."

That, Dean reflects as Artemis turns her full attention on him, was probably not the best way to go about it.

"Your soul?" She says, " _Your soul?_ "

Castiel shifts slightly further in front of Dean. Dean wants to be annoyed, but with the way she's glaring, he really can't.

"That soul still rightfully belongs to _me_."

"No." Castiel says again at the exact same time as Sam.

Dean sees Thorn shush his brother and push him further behind him, using his body to edge Sam towards the relative safety of the kitchen.

Dean's slightly grateful, though he'll never tell Thorn that under pain of death.

"Artemis," Ash tries again, walking around until he's standing next to Castiel and in front of Dean, if slightly to the side of him. "You can't do this."

"Oh, I _can't_ , can I?"

Dean doesn't know much about gods and goddesses, but he's pretty sure that you don't dare them. If they're anything like him, they're going to take the challenge and run with it.

Dean thinks that they're probably _more_ competitive than him though.

"He's _human_ ," Ash says, "the rules are that you can only take the soul of a mortal who is dying. And Dean is clearly not dying."

"The _rules_ ," Artemis snaps back, "also state that the loophole is that someone who is in _love_ can try and return the soul. Only them!

"Do not try and argue that that… _demon_ , was in love with him!"

Ash flinches and shifts uncomfortably. Artemis sees it and latches on like a dog with a bone.

"No. Therefore the soul was _stolen_ and I've come to reclaim my rightful _property_."

Castiel raises his sword fully at that and says, "Dean is not _property_."

"He is right now, angel. Now, get out of my way."

Castiel tilts his chin a fraction higher. Artemis' eyes flash and the energy that has been crackling around her condenses into her right palm.

Oh God. She's going to kill him.

It's the only thought that runs through Dean's mind and he blames it for the next thing he does. Which is to step out in front of the two people trying to protect him and straight into Artemis' line of sight.

"Okay." He says.

Everyone blinks. Even Artemis looks stunned.

Dean doesn't see why everyone should be surprised. He knows what's going on.

Dean sold his soul to Artemis to save his brother, and whilst it's nice to know that there's a loophole for future reference, he didn't really see himself getting out of it.

And besides, he's always tried to be fair. He didn't get out of the original deal because…well, most of it was because of Sam, to be fair. But there was a little bit of him that balked because he is a man of his word.

He's honourable. Or, at least, he's always tried to be.

Thing is, he's dependable. And people know that. When he says he's going to do something then he damn well does it and people, hunters, know that. Know that they can rely on him.

It was different with the demon deal because…well, he was scared, but something else was offered to him and never let it be said that Dean Winchester doesn't know a good deal if he hears it.

But the thing is, this whole thing? He can see it from Artemis' point of view and she's in the _right_. Dean did sell his soul to her and, okay, it was stolen. And pretty easily too by the sounds of it, so they'll have to be having words on that because it _is_ his soul. But technically it should still belong to her.

Really, Meg has just made everything worse and more complicated than it has to be.

"What?" Artemis asks. But the power dies in her hands, so Dean is pretty sure that she isn't going to smite him.

"I said okay." Dean shrugs, "I know that if it hadn't been for Meg then I wouldn't be human right now. I didn't break the contract, but it's not like you did either, so it only seems fair that I honour what I said I'd do."

Artemis blinks in surprise. Then she straightens and sniffs.

Dean thinks that he's never heard a sniff laden with such contempt. But she's not completely sneering at him. In fact, she's looking at him like he's some sort of new toy.

Dean represses a shiver.

"Dean…"

Dean glances at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. Castiel looks pitiful.

Well, actually no, that's a lie. He looks pretty stoic from where Dean's standing. But there's a certain sort of desperation in his eyes that Dean can't work out just yet.

"You don't have to do this." Castiel says, and Ash shifts next to him.

"He's right," Ash mutters, "I mean, technically…"

Dean thins his lips. He's grateful that these two would stick up for him. That they would argue a goddesses claim on his soul whilst standing in front of said goddess and ignoring her. But his mind is pretty made up.

He said he would become a dark hunter. And he should still be a dark hunter. So he's going to _be_ a dark hunter.

Dean has no idea what this says about his sense of self-wellbeing, but he's willing to not look too much into how quick he is to stand up to his word. Especially when it means becoming soulless once again.

"No," Dean says, taking a step further towards Artemis. "I gave my word."

Neither Ash nor Castiel look like they like what's happening. Dean doesn't blame them. To be honest, he doesn't like it either. He's _liked_ being able to feel the sun on his skin again.

He's also quite glad that Thorn has Sam neatly and safely tucked away in the kitchen and out of earshot.

Dean does _not_ want to know what Sam's opinion on his lack of judgement is going to be.

Nothing flattering at least.

Artemis is looking both smug and flattered. "Well," she says, "I knew I liked hunters for a reason."

And that's the only warning Dean gets before she reaches out and touches the same place on his neck as the last time, and his body is wracked with the most intense pain he's ever felt in his life.

And that's saying something.

When he comes too, he's lying on the floor and panting. Castiel has his arms wrapped around him so Dean is half propped up.

"What?" Dean tries to say, but his throat is killing him and he can taste blood. He coughs and whines in pain when that makes his throat hurt even more.

Artemis is standing over him and looking down. He thinks he sees a look of sympathy pass over her face, but that might be the delirium caused by the pain.

"You're one of mine again, hunter." She says and then looks up to face Ash. "I will be busy hunting down the demon who invaded and desecrated my temple. Do not bother me."

And then she's gone.

Dean would say something about abruptness, but his head is feeling pretty light and the room is kind of spinning dizzily. Ash, Castiel, Sam and Thorn are crowding around him and looking worried even when their faces are all kind of blurring into one.

Dean blinks and tries to focus. No way did it hurt that much last time. Though, technically he supposes, last time he was dead.

He guesses it hurts a lot more for a living person to get their soul ripped out of them then it does a dead one.

Slowly the room goes back to normal and Dean feels like he's been looking weak and pathetic for long enough.

"Okay, guys," he manages to choke out but then has to stop when he gets his first clear look at the people above him.

Apparently being a dark hunter again means getting his weird powers back. Which would be okay, except Ash is _blue_ and, holy shit, _Ash is blue_. Thorn and Castiel have _wings_ which, he kind sort of expected, but it's weird and nice to see anyway. But Sam, Sam is glowing and there's a weird darkness swirling around him but it's not really stopping the brightness from shining through.

"Oh," Dean says in some surprise. "You're all very pretty."

And then mentally slaps himself.


	23. December 23rd

Zachariah was not having a good day.

Firstly, Uriel was dead. Not that that wasn't a big shock. But it was annoyingly detrimental to his plans. Uriel was… _had been_ … a competent second. If a bit brash.

Secretly, Zachariah had wondered if his vessel had started to affect him without him knowing. Uriel had always been quick to anger when he thought he had been wronged. Zachariah should have foreseen his going after Michael's vessel.

And now look where that put him.

Uriel dead, slain by _Castiel's_ hand of all angels.

 _Castiel_. Uriel's little pawn that he'd been toying with for decades.

Zachariah would never have guessed it, but then he's never really been partial to dealing directly with the troops. He much prefers passing his orders on to the competent angels he's handpicked over the centuries.

Maybe that was an oversight on his part, but really, he can't be expected to do _all_ the work. He had thought Uriel to be trustworthy enough to pick up competent followers and mould them to their plans.

Obviously he's been proven wrong on that part because not only has Castiel stood steadfast to the duty given to him by their Father, he has also killed Uriel. And Zachariah suspects that he now knows there is something wrong.

Or, at least, Zachariah _thinks_ that Castiel might know something is wrong.

It is so very hard to tell sometimes. And it would be too much to just pop down and ask him face to face whether Castiel suspects something or not as he's never spoken much to Castiel at all. It's one of the few downsides to delegating.

Nevertheless, Zachariah will just have to deal with this small setback.

And if he's a little annoyed by the fact that his specially chosen second in command is now dead and gone, leaving him all alone to finish this, then nobody will know. Because he has a stronger control over his vessel.

At times, Zachariah would like to sigh. But it is such a _human_ thing to do that he abstains it. Truly, the only way he would ever sink so low is if he were mocking someone. Or if he needed to convince a human to do anything, he supposes.

But when would he need to do that? He can just order his angels to do the work needed. They're much more efficient than humans and really, when would he need to ask a human's permission anyway?

The closest would be his vessel, who had freely given up his body and decided to pass on.

Or perhaps, Zachariah muses, the vessels of Michael and Lucifer. But seeing as that plan is out of the question right now, he doesn't see how it affects him.

Besides, Dean Winchester isn't the only candidate for Michael. If it ever comes down to it then they have a half-brother whose blood is strong enough to carry Michael's grace.

Not that Zachariah thinks that it will come down to it now, of course. Not with the way the opening of the seals has been botched up by his angels.

At least Uriel did not go off spouting all their plans as he taunted Castiel. That is one thing that Zachariah is certainly grateful for. He is not quite sure what he would have done if Uriel had committed such a breach of trust.

Probably found some way to revive him and kill him again.

But Uriel hadn't because he didn't know. _Nobody_ knows what Zachariah's backup plan is. And after this mess Zachariah is glad of that fact.

Nothing like a complete and utter failure of all proportions to show that if you want a job done right, or even done at all, you could only rely on yourself.

Zachariah turns from where he's standing in the middle of the open space of a field. It is dark, but that doesn't matter. He is an angel; he is not bound by the limitations of the human flesh, even when he is wearing it.

His followers are gathered behind him, standing patiently and waiting for his orders. Zachariah couldn't wish for any more devout. They are willing to stand and fight for the paradise promised to them by their Father.

They are willing to sacrifice everything to gain this once again.

This…is a good thing. Seeing as they will need to for Zachariah's plan to work.

It is not so bad, he thinks. The angel's would and are willing to lay down their lives to fight the forces of hell. They knew that some of them would not survive when fighting for the seals. They were prepared to be struck down by demons and misguided angels alike.

What is so different that they would not lay down their life for _him?_

Nothing.

All the same, there is that same niggling of doubt.

If _Uriel_ can disobey, then what is to say that these cannot? They were not handpicked by himself. He does not know their true loyalties. He could be under suspicion. There could be a traitor in the ranks.

Is this what he has degraded himself to? Zachariah wonders. Worrying about something that he has no control over and, in all likelihood, will not matter after the next half hour?

It seems he has. Let it not be said that he cannot learn from his past mistakes.

Surreptitiously, Zachariah raises a barrier around the space where they stand. No one will be able to leave or enter without killing him first. And he is safe in the knowledge that that will _never_ happen.

His followers don't even notice. Or, if they do, they neither flinch nor speak out about being encased with him.

Zachariah finds himself looking over the angels before him. They are good. Strong. They have been bred for war and bloodshed. They were made for inconsequential purposes and he has given them a higher goal to strive for.

It is _he_ who has made them more than they are and should ever have been.

They own him _everything_.

Unfortunately, he had planned for half of his followers to be destroyed by the seals. Their deaths lending more power to the cause.

Not that _they_ know that, of course. It is a highly kept secret that only the archangels know. Except for Zachariah who had overheard it spoken by Gabriel as he was setting up a warning system so they would know if a righteous man ever found himself in hell. Before Gabriel disappeared, of course.

But that recourse is all but null and void now. The seals will not be open by these particular brothers. And until he can find a way of bringing back Lilith, they will never be open.

Hence Plan B.

It had the double pros of both setting off the apocalypse _and_ giving him the opportunity to resurrect the first demon.

He stifles a small smile, much too human, and turns to his brethren.

"My brothers and sisters," he says, holding out his arms wide to encompass them all. It is unneeded, but every now and then he likes a bit of drama. Especially when his audience is made up fully of angels. It sets them off-guard.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees something move just beyond the barrier.

He ignores it.

"The time is now," Zachariah continues, "for millennia we have waited on the right moment for our Father's plans to be fulfilled. Alone we have stood whilst our brethren have carried on. Unknowing in their ignorance.

"But it is not their fault. They have not been chosen for this task. This is _our_ task. Our Father's will commands us.

"We will follow in his footsteps and bring paradise to his creation."

The shadows beyond the barrier are growing. Condensing into forms that circle their gathering, just out of reach.

The angel's don't seem to have noticed. Most of them are too young to have been in this situation before. Cloistered away before they were assigned to their garrisons.

There are only a few here that are old enough and dedicated enough to have been allowed on earth at the time of the last rising.

"We are the few. We are the chosen."

The forms beyond his barrier are clear now. They are reapers. Hundreds of reapers, all standing and waiting for their master.

For him.

Zachariah feels a flush of anticipation sweep through him and is perturbed to find his hands trembling. He takes a breath to steady himself and straightens his spine. His voice, when he next speaks, is unwavering. And for that he is grateful.

"We have been entrusted with the knowledge and the power. Our Father is relying on our steadfast determination.

"We will not fail."

His troops do not speak, or anything uncouth along those lines. But there is a ripple of power that spreads out from him to the furthest reaches.

Zachariah watches as his speech has the right effect.

These angels will die for him.

Which is good, really, seeing as how they will have to die.

Death calls to Death, after all.

Normally he should not be able to do this. He is not an archangel. He does not have the power needed to pull Death's resting place out of the earth. But with the deaths of angels, the power he will be able to wield and shape to his command will be immense.

Certainly enough for the job at hand.

Zachariah almost feels glee at the thought of it. But right now he is too caught up with preparations. He needs…he needs…

There's a flash of light as an angel collapses and dies, its wings burning their final shapes into the ground.

His brothers and sisters do not even turn to watch.

Zachariah has never been so proud. They are good soldiers, willing to die for him. It is too bad that they will actually have to die for him. He has trained them well.

The power from the dead angel gathers around him and Zachariah turns his attention to the next part of the ritual.

The angel's drop faster, one by one speeding up until it's two, and then three at a time. Zachariah throws his head back as the power swirls faster around him, pulsing through him.

This. _This_.

There aren't many left, but there doesn't need to be. He can feel the ground crack beneath him. Can feel Death's prison start to rise. Can feel the binding chains stretch and break.

If this was the power that an archangel wields at all times, Zachariah feels jealous. Because this is glorious. This is something that he should be able to take charge of at all times. It should not take the death of his troops for him to call something so simple.

His thoughts are getting away from him and it is with some surprise that he is called back to the present by the deaths of the last five of his troops.

There's a giant pulse of power as the empty vessels fall to the floor and the earth in front of him explodes upwards.

Zachariah fights a flinch as… _something_ …steps out of the crack in the earth.

It looks like a man. If it can be called a man. But the power it holds is so much more than he has ever laid hands on. It is not like his Father's power either, for whereas in that there is life. In this there is only death.

Zachariah smiles as the figure stands before him and glances at his children kept away by the barrier.

"Death," Zachariah says, feeling a smile stretch his lips, "I have brought you forth. You will obey me."

Death turns to face him once more and, for a moment, Zachariah feels his will falter. But it is folly; he holds the power of one hundred angel's deaths in his hands. Death will bend to his will. He needs Lilith raised again and for Death to command his reapers.

The plague of humans will be wiped out, one way or another.

But Death doesn't look all that impressed.

"Angel." He says.

And, to Zachariah's horror, the barrier flickers and falters until it falls. The reapers he has been keeping out swarm around their creator.

For the first time, Zachariah feels the beginning of panic stir within him.

This did not happen the last time the angels raised Death. Though, during the flood, Death was raised by an archangel.

"You will obey me. I command you." Zachariah tries again.

Death takes a step forward, then another one, until he's standing almost toe to toe with the angel.

"No." Death says, and for a moment Zachariah thinks he's misheard.

"No?"

Death tilts his head into a half-nod. "No." He confirms, "You cannot command me."

"But I _raised_ you!" Zachariah blusters, "I hold the power! You _will_ do as I say!"

Death blinks and, without hesitation, lays his palm on Zachariah's chest. "I am not one to be commanded." He says quietly.

"But-!" Zachariah is definitely panicking now, but he is unable to draw away. The reapers have closed in, hemming him in on all sides, and the power that he had collected seemed to be draining out of him at a rapid pace. Straight through the spot that Death was touching him.

"You can't do this…" Zachariah tries again, only his voice comes out weak. "There are plans…"

It is all he manages to say before he is engulfed by darkness.

###

Death watches silently as the angel who called him blinks slowly. His grace dimming at an alarming rate. This is the natural order of things. This is what he is.

What is living must all die.

And _nothing_ is exempt from that.

The angel finally drops to the floor. Dead. There isn't even enough grace left for its wings to burn away. Instead they lie broken and twisted.

It is a sad sight, but Death has seen so much sadness that he is immune to it.

He turns to his children. His reapers. His beautiful creations that have been wandering the earth whilst he was trapped beneath it.

They are pressing close, trying to be near him, trying to touch him.

Death feels content at their proximity and at how they have flourished.

Death is everywhere after all. That not one of his creations has died is a source of great joy to him. It is much more than can be said for others.

He lets the chatter roll over him, allowing them to catch him up with events. It is surprising, there has been so much more bloodshed over the past few centuries than ever before. It is almost ingenious in the way these humans have managed to kill each other.

But there is something else that is bothering his reapers. An event that is coming, and coming soon. Lead by a race of people that should be his, but have been taught to avoid his touch and fought against another whose souls have been hidden from him.

The Apollites and the Dark Hunters.

This will not do. The natural order has been subverted. This is what happens when he is trapped away.

Death turns to his audience and, as one, they disappear. They will reappear across the globe, ready to reap the souls of the fallen. This conflict will not last, and he will have the deaths due to him.

He waits until the last of the reapers disappears before he sets off to the centre of the conflict.

Reappearing in the middle of New Orleans.

###

Meg looks out at the rolling mass of demons. Whoever and whatever she has been able to find has been brought here, ready to hear her speak.

She has been unable to free the more powerful demons still trapped in hell, but the newly turned are much easier to slip between the cracks in the realms.

Beside her stands Alistair, his arms folded behind his back.

"Do you think they're ready?" He asks.

She turns to raise a sardonic eyebrow at her. He's been subtly challenging her ever since someone knocked her unconscious and stole Dean Winchester's soul from underneath her nose. Quite literally.

Meg will have to put a stop to that soon.

"They will be ready." She says, "Or they'll be back here or dead before they know it."

Alistair hums as he surveys the demons braying for blood. "And Crowley?"

Meg scoffs, "That snake may sit on the throne of Hell, but he will never rule. We will have no trouble or interference from him."

Alistair smiles. It is not comforting.

"And what will you do with your new little toy?"

Meg turns her head slightly and holds out her hand, beckoning to the shadows behind them. There is a small pause and then something shifts in the darkness and a hand reaches out to her. Meg doesn't try to hide her smile as Ruby steps forward and presses herself against her.

Meg looks at Alistair once again as she pets Ruby's hair.

"She has a special chore, don't you?" She tugs lightly on the locks beneath her fingers, "She's going to lure Sam and Dean out and then kill them for me."

Ruby presses against her side harder and Meg smiles.

"I see." Alistair says.

"Alistair?" Meg says, not moving her attention away from Ruby, "Release my demons."

Alistair's smile turns bloodthirsty. "As you wish, my master."

###

Stryker stood before his troops. Tens upon hundreds lined up in neat, precise rows. Their armour and weapons gleaming in the torchlight.

They would have been glorious to see, marching out into the light of day. But that's impossible, so he's forced to admire their sleek lines by naked flame.

"Strykerius?"

Stryker turns to his second. The daimon is standing at full attention next to him.

"They have their orders. They know where they are to go."

It's not a question, but it's confirmed anyway. Stryker feels the first pang of anticipation.

"Send out the first group."

The order is roared out over the hall and the first bolthole – one of many more that will be seen today – opens up somewhere in Australia. Over the next twelve hours battalions of his troops will arrive in specific places all over the globe as soon as the sun sets there.

He will have to wait until the light dies over New Orleans, but it is a sweet anticipation.

The Dark Hunters will be overwhelmed.

The Night of Blood has begun.


	24. December 24th

The first notion they have of anything being wrong, is the phone call Ash receives as they sit in the kitchen.

Thorn has been trying to introduce them all to the wonders of tea when the shrill ringing cuts through the pleasant chatter.

Despite the lateness, or earliness depending on whether or not you were working to dark hunter times, it wasn't all that unusual for Ash to receive calls. This is why, in the beginning, neither Dean, Castiel, Sam or Thorn thinks anything is wrong.

It doesn't last.

Ash shoots an apologetic look at the table and stands to take his call, moving just out of sight through the kitchen door. It's polite, but unnecessary, Dean thinks. He's grown up in a household where phone calls are almost as important as a gun.

Almost, because whilst calls can prepare you for what you're about to face, it's the gun that's going to take the fucker down.

Sam just smiles as Ash passes him, but Thorn immediately draws him into a low voiced conversation. It's almost like Thorn is jealous of Sam's attention on Ash.

Dean tries not to snicker.

He glances to his side where Castiel is sitting, willing to share in the eye-rolling camaraderie that he would have shared with anyone else. But the smile immediately drops from his face. Castiel is still sitting stiff and silent beside him, but every so often he would look to Dean's neck, where the mark of Artemis had been rebranded into his skin, and glance away again.

Dean would think this behaviour really annoying, but he's fond of the angel. They've saved each other's lives so Dean thinks that that makes them friends.

He's not too sure what Castiel's opinion on this is, seeing as how he's not even sure angels can _have_ friends and whatnot – he's not taking Thorn as an shining example of angelhood here because…well…it's _Thorn_ – but Dean's willing to give it a try.

Besides. The number of close friends that Dean has that are still alive are pitifully low. He can literally count them all on one hand. So it's not like he's going to give up the opportunity to thrown one away.

Especially one who is obviously loyal to a fault and ready and willing to stand, not only at Dean's back, but at his side as well.

Hell, Castiel's already proven that he's willing to thrown himself in front of Dean if he thinks it's a good idea.

And, at the moment, his new maybe-friend isn't too happy. With the situation or with Dean, Dean isn't too sure. It's probably a bit of both. Dean tends to inspire that kind of thing.

"Cas?" Dean asks, his voice a low whisper.

Castiel blinks, and it's the only sign that he's shocked at Dean finally talking to him directly. Or, Dean thinks, it could be Dean's new nickname for him. Either or, really.

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel says, and Dean notices the way his eyes, once again, flicker to the brand on his skin. Feeling embarrassed, Dean covers it with his hand.

Is this the reason for the silence? The reason Castiel won't look at him, even though he'd faced down a couple of angels and a goddess to try and keep Dean safe.

The light touch of fingertips touching the back of his hand draws Dean out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Castiel focusing on the hand pressed against his neck.

Once again, there's a light brush and Dean hesitantly moves his hand away. As soon as Castiel sees the tattoo again his face…well, it doesn't exactly crumple, but there's a sadness in his eyes that Dean doesn't like to see.

"Is this what's bothering you, Cas?"

Castiel's fingers pause and then he draws back, his face stoic once again. "I apologise."

Dean only very nearly manages to stop an eye roll. "You don't need to apologise. Just…why?"

It's a struggle to ask the question. It's going a little too far into chick-flick moment then Dean's comfortable with. But there's something different about having this conversation with Cas. It's like Dean doesn't expect Cas to burst into tears or try to hug him or something – which was always a concern when doing things with Sam.

"I-" Cas says, and then frowns a little. A slight crease appearing between his eyes. "I regret that you-"

Dean shifts uncomfortably, "You know I had to do it, right?" The look of incomprehension on Cas' face tells Dean that he really didn't. Dean sighs, of course he didn't. When was his life ever going to make these moments easier?

"Cas," He says quietly, "I gave my word. _My word_. I don't back down from that."

Castiel blinks again, his shoulders slumping a little. "You have sold your soul to another pantheon. Again."

Dean opens his mouth, and then has to close it again. Cas almost sounded _jealous_ there for a moment. But that couldn't be right…could it?

It clicks. Let it not be said that Dean Winchester can't work out things for himself every now and then. He's not a moron after all. Even so, he's not going to just blurt out his suspicions in case he _is_ wrong.

He starts out hesitantly, "Just because I'm working for Artemis now…doesn't mean that I-" His voice chokes off, even as Castiel's eyes brighten.

This has been a big thing for him. Ever since his mom died he's lost faith in God and anything good happening to him. Yet here he is, sitting in a kitchen with two angels – well, one's the anti-Christ, but he's not going to go into that – and he's been saved multiple times from a fate worse than death.

It's almost like someone _is_ watching out for him. And Dean is finding it increasingly difficult to not believe that someone is watching over him now.

To be honest, he's been feeling like that for a while now.

"I'm still…" Dean tries again, "Well, I mean, _you're_ here…"

This isn't going very well. Fortunately, Castiel seems to know what he means and gives him a small smile.

That shouldn't cause warmth to curl in his chest the way that it does.

Dean can't really find the energy to care. He smiles back and glances over at Sam and Thorn to see if they'd stood witness to the moment between him and his angel. Hey, Sam had an angel, why couldn't Dean?

Fortunately, Sam and Thorn are two busy discussing something or other about Sam's new job. Sam isn't taking it well.

"What?" Ash says sharply, drawing Dean's attention away from the domesticated bickering of Sam and Thorn. Seriously, it's like they don't even know how they're acting sometimes. Dean doesn't have that much info on old married couples – the ones that've been through and survived everything and, despite it all, still look like they're just meeting for the first time – but he has seen old hunting partners.

And Sam and Thorn have that sort of chemistry about them.

Which is _ridiculous_ when you think logically about it. Because Sam and Thorn barely met a week ago and there shouldn't be any reason why they're able to practically finish each other's sentences by now.

Well, Dean thinks, maybe not on Sam's part. Thorn could have telepathy which would totally explain how he's arguing with Sam without actually _saying_ anything.

God damn eyebrows.

"What do you _mean_ -" Ash cuts off and there's a pause and then a quick, "I'll be right there."

The look on his face when he strides back into the kitchen is enough to get Dean and Sam standing. They're used to clusterfucks and how quickly you usually need to be on your feet to deal with them.

"I need to go." Ash says, his face set into something worn and stern with a hint of worry. And then he's gone and Dean is left with the thought that everything is going to crumble around him.

###

Ash appears next to his dark hunter just outside Sydney, Australia. Or, at least, he thinks he _should_ have. But he can't see Rain anywhere. No, his attention is dragged to the blood soaked streets and the bodies littering the floor.

His breath catches in his throat and he feels his body start to numb. He hasn't seen anything quite this bad since the hospital.

"Rain?" He calls out taking a step forward. His foot lands on something solid but squishy. Ash looks down and wants to gag. It's a hand, a dismembered hand with a telling bow and arrow tattoo on the back of it.

Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes track up. And still it takes a few moments for his brain to process what he's seeing. Rain has been ripped apart and trampled so thoroughly into the ground that Ash can't even begin to differentiate.

He wants to gag. He wants to throw up. He wants to crawl into a corner and, for the first time, tell them that he isn't cut out for this job.

But he can't, because people are relying on him and there are more humans out here that need help. He'll have to try and get them to safety and then work out why _this_ place was attacked.

A noise makes his head jerk up. And that's when he notices that he's surrounded on all sides. By daimons, sure. But there are also humans with pitch black eyes. Demons. And they're covered in blood. It's smeared across their faces and dripping down their chins as they stare at him blankly. Their clothes are soaked in it, so much so that he can't pick out individual colours anymore.

One of the daimons steps forward and smiles at him. "Greetings, Acheron. Why don't you join the party?"

Ash doesn't even remember what happens next. One moment he's completely surrounded, the next the daimons have exploded into gold dust and the demons are streaming black clouds into the sky.

He stands there, shell shocked, for a few seconds. His brain is telling him that he needs to move, he needs to pick up Rain's soul and take it back to spend the rest of eternity in as much comfort as he could provide.

But then his phone rings. It's another one of his dark hunters calling for help, screaming at him to save them.

Ash doesn't remember what he says but he disappears within two seconds of hanging up – Rain's soul can wait for the moment, another one of his warriors is in trouble – to a scene that's exactly like the one he's just left.

###

There's something wrong. Dean can tell. He has a sixth sense for things getting screwed up.

Doesn't mean that he's not going to go do them _anyway_ , just that he knows when he's going to have to get his gun.

His sixth sense is proved correct, yet again, when Ash appears back in the kitchen covered head to toe in blood and swaying.

"Ash!" Sam shouts and moves to slip under Ash's arm so he doesn't collapse. Ash doesn't even seem to notice.

Instead he turns to Thorn and says "Demons have teamed up with the daimons."

Thorn curses and immediately goes for his phone, barking commands into it before Dean thinks it's even had a chance to ring.

Sam helps Ash sit in a chair and then hovers uncertainly, looking helpless. Dean knows how he feels, because he's feeling pretty much how Sam looks right now.

"Where are they?" Thorn askes sharply and Ash just _looks_ at him.

"They're everywhere. The daimons are travelling with the sunset. Attacking my hunters and ripping them to pieces. And then going after the humans. The demons are just joining in the slaughter."

Thorn curses again and disappears.

Sam has barely had time to get Ash a glass of water before Thorn is back, blood slicing across the front of his shirt in an arc. Dean thinks it might be an arterial spray.

"Shit." Thorn says, "shit, shit, shit."

Ash chuckles mirthlessly.

"They're heading here." Thorn starts to pace. "I mean, eventually. The sun is going to set and they're going to be here." He glances at the steel shutters, once again, covering the windows as if he can gauge how much time they have left before nightfall.

"I have to warn the rest of my men and women." Ash stands, planting two hands on the table top before he can steady himself and tuck all weaknesses inside.

Dean doesn't know what Ash has just seen and lived through, and he doesn't want to, but he has the feeling that he's not going to get much of a choice.

"Ash." He says, stealing Ash's attention before he can disappear, "Is there anything…? Do you need me anywhere?"

Ash blinks, like he can't remember who Dean is for a moment, then he straightens his sunglasses, "New Orleans is your city to protect, Dean." He says. "Right now you can't do anything until the sun goes down. But when it does then get out there and protect the humans. That's your job."

Dean nods, even as a bitter taste fills the back of his throat at not being able to get out there _now_.

"If you need to, head to Sanctuary. So far the other lamini have been undisturbed. The demons might not heed the rules if they're here for you, but the daimons almost certainly will. And if they don't…" Ash gives a vicious grin, "Well then, Savitar will just have to get involved then, won't he?"

"You…think the demons are after me?" Dean asks, hating the guilt that sits heavily on his shoulders.

"You escaped hell, Dean." Thorn says, "I think there's a pretty good chance that they're after you."

Before Dean can retort though, Thorn is already turning to Sam. "I'm sorry," Thorn says, reaching for Sam's wrist, "this is probably going to hurt."

Sam gives him a look of confusion and then he's screaming. Dean leaps forward to do something, _anything_ , but Cas is there, holding him back. And then it's over and Sam is kneeling on the floor, clutching his wrist to his chest.

"What the fuck!" Dean explodes with.

Thorn ignores him and pries Sam's arm away until he can see the inside of his wrist. There's a mark there. Thorn hums and brushes his thumb lightly over the skin causing Sam's breath to hitch and a full body shiver to wrack his frame.

Thorn smirks slightly and then let's go, standing up. "Welcome to the Hellchasers, Sam. You've got some extra power, can still go out in sunlight and are now, technically immortal. But please don't try and test that out." He says, "I'd be grateful if you'd kill some of the bastards out there tonight."

Then he turns to Ash and pulls out his sword.

"Let's go."

They disappear and Dean and Sam are left staring at one another. Dean's just busy wondering _what the fuck_ when Sam makes a strangled noise and staggers to his feet.

"Dean," he says, "Dean. _Bobby_."

Dean curses because _of course_ Bobby is going to be a target if they're coming after him. Normally he'd just give the old man a ring and tell him to hole up somewhere safe, but daimons won't be affected by devil traps.

"Shit." Dean says and then blinks and looks at Castiel. "Will you help?"

Castiel nods. "I will."

Dean smiles and then takes a deep breath. There's still a while until sundown, but there's so much to do. "Okay, I'll give him a ring and warn him. Is it possible to do that appearing out of nowhere trick again? How far can you travel?"

Castiel seems to know what he means as he says "I can collect Bobby Singer for you."

Dean nods. "Right, well. As much as I like this place, it's not safe. At all, as shown by the last three attacks." He rolls his eyes, "As much as it pains me to say, our best bet is to use Sanctuary as our base of operations." He turns to Cas again, "Will you be able to get him there?"

Cas nods, "As soon as it is needed I will transport him there."

Dean turns to Sam, who is still clutching at his wrist, whilst digging out his phone from his pocket. "Okay, Sam. Sanctuary. We'll need to demon proof it as much as possible. I can't go out to help just yet so it'll be up to you.

"I don't trust the daimons to hold up to the rules. But I _know_ the demons won't so…"

"Right," Sam says, and runs to the bedroom. He appears five minutes later with a duffle bag filled with as much stuff as they have in the apartment. At Dean's eye he says, "I'll pick up more on the way."

Dean nods and chucks the Impala's keys at him. "Be safe, Sammy."

For once Sam doesn't complain about the nickname. Instead he crushes Dean in a hug. "I'll see you when you get to Sanctuary."

Dean claps Sam on the shoulder, "You can count on it."

Then Sam is gone and Dean's dialling Bobby's number and convincing him to follow his plan. Not that it's that great of a plan. But it's one that he hopes will keep his loved ones alive until tomorrow.

Castiel gives him a long look that Dean can't even _begin_ to decipher and then he's gone as well. Leaving Dean alone with nothing else to do but sharpen and load his weapons.

Without the Impala, he's going to have to run to Sanctuary. And he's going to cut a swath of destruction through the enemy forces whilst he does so.


	25. December 25th

Dean is practically vibrating the last few minutes before the sun finally dips beneath the horizon.

He's been preparing for this for hours, talking with Sam and Bobby on the phone to make sure their defences and plans are coinciding. Apparently the bears were not happy about the salt lines. At least until Bobby stopped a demon from breaking in and attacking them in broad daylight.

Then they were all for painting devil traps all over the place.

Sam still isn't talking to them much. Dean gets the feeling that he's still pissed about the whole bear mauling thing and is trying to take the morally superior road.

Bobby confided that Sam looks like he's sulking.

Though, to be fair, that could be because neither Thorn nor Ash have contacted either of them since they disappeared. Seeing as how they _appeared_ covered in blood, it's not a good sign and Dean knows that Sam is worrying about them.

Needlessly, maybe. But worrying about them all the same.

Not that Sam would ever _confess_ that to Dean or anything. Despite wanting Dean to be in touch with emotions and all that other hippy crap, Sam is surprisingly reluctant to admit to anything of the same sometimes.

Hypocrite.

Bu that isn't the only thing that's worrying him. Dean's been watching TV. Dean's been watching the aftermath of the demon/daimon attacks that are slowly crawling across the globe. Dean's been watching live footage of the troops of a man, daimon, _thing_ that refuses to give a fuck anymore.

It's horrifying. There are people literally being torn apart on live TV. The humans are panicking and running about. Military forces have been mobilised and people are dying by their hundreds, trapped as the sun sets around them, having to wait for the sunrise to save them.

Luckily, there has been enough coverage that some countries have set up warning systems and whatnot. But it's hard to predict, as there's no telling where the daimons or demons will strike. Or if they'll even strike together.

There has been more than one case of demons and daimons fighting between themselves. Over the best victims or something. But most of the time, Dean realises, they work together. As if they're drawn to it.

Unfortunately, those places where the sun set first, where there was absolutely no warning of any kind, have not survived well. There haven't been any official figures yet, but they've lost contact in more than one place and right now, their own government is trying to figure out how to assess and counter-act the threat than find out.

They think it's terrorists.

Which, really, isn't too far from the truth. But whereas terrorists usually have some sort of political or religious reason, these things like to do it for fun.

So maybe not terrorists then. Maybe just crazy homicidal serial killers.

And it's all on TV.

Dean doesn't know how they're going to cover this up. How Ash is going to deal with this – because he's going to have to, eventually – but Dean doesn't think that it should rest solely on Ash's shoulders.

And it's not like they've come out to the world. Not really.

Well, Dean's seen dark hunters on the TV, fighting the good fight. But they're not the only ones. There's a lot of humans too that are standing up for their lives and Dean doesn't think that anyone's made the distinction between the two groups yet.

Also, it's not like anyone's going to believe in this sort of thing anyway. Dean's got a lot of first-hand knowledge of people's ability to rationalise away anything that isn't out of the ordinary. Even when said extraordinary thing is sucking the blood out of your throat and about to eat your soul.

Of course, there are the few who _do_ figure it out. But out of them there are only a few that would try and take advantage of the situation. A lot more of them are good people who would help rather than hinder.

Dean should know. A lot of those people turn out to become hunters.

But, that's not the point. The point is, is that the humans are fighting back. And they're learning quickly – especially the military. Which is a little shocking. But it still doesn't defeat the point that the humans – the ones that nobody, not even the dark hunters, believe can take care of themselves – are fighting back.

And _winning_.

True, a lot of them are dying. But daimons are dying too and it fills Dean with a certain amount of vindictive pleasure when he realises that its regular people who are standing up for themselves.

Maybe, in the future, those with extra powers, those who weren't born human and those who've forgotten they _were_ human, will remember that there's a certain power that comes with being human. And that _humans_ are just as powerful as they are.

But now is not the time. Everyone is too busy panicking over trying to stop this thing that they're not really paying attention to anything else.

Dean doesn't know why. Not really. After all, everything has turned into a giant clusterfuck anyway. It's not like anything can get any worse.

Unless they bring in the nukes.

Okay, so it _can_ get worse.

Dean hopes they don't bring in the nukes.

His weapons are all sharpened and strapped to his body. Sam had left some of the knife holsters out on the bed where he'd dumped all their stuff.

Dean takes it as a hint and straps as many as he can to his body. Most of them go over his clothes, but it's not like it'll really matter. Not tonight at least. Not if the way they're talking on TV is any indication, or the images of the military and police force setting up a presence in all the major cities have any indication.

Hell, he's got more of a chance at being shot by the people he'll be fighting _with_. Even if they don't exactly know that they're on the same side.

He glances at the latest news reel as he packs all the spare ammo he can carry in a bag that he'll sling over his back. He doesn't need to carry everything – just enough to get to Sanctuary where Sam is bound to have more.

At first there had just been warnings on the TV. Pieces that were filled with fake sympathy for the suffering in the east. Sympathy that had turned into barely hidden superiority when the daimon and demons forces hit the Middle East and Russia.

And, really, Dean loves his country. But sometimes their bullshit makes it hard to swallow. Especially when half the news anchors seem, well…not _pleased_ by what's happening. But certainly insinuating that this was a message from God.

They'd certainly changed their tune fast enough when they realised that this thing was coming with the setting of the sun. That it was heading straight towards them and they couldn't run.

Dean shouldn't take any sort of pleasure. But it is nice to see the panic in their eyes when they realised that _they_ were next and they couldn't run. It was nice to see the way they went from railing against the Godlessness of the government to demanding that same government save them.

It is nice, if only because Dean appreciates the irony and the way the assholes learn that karma is a bitch.

But, Dean thinks, it shouldn't have taken the deaths of thousands to make them realise this.

If it was possible, Dean would want to go back in time and make sure that this would _never_ take place. Because, whilst it was nice of his fellow men to learn goodwill and the joy of being part of humanity, it wasn't worth the scenes being repeated on every TV news channel.

Assholes he can deal with. Happily even.

But he doesn't have that ability, so he'll just have to deal. He's got a city to try and save and, unlike other cities that have no idea whether or not they'll be hit, Dean _knows_ that New Orleans will be.

Because he's there.

He'd offered to leave, to run to the desert where the closest people where dozens of miles away. To a place where no one would be able to get hurt. But, Castiel had pointed out; the demons would still probably head to New Orleans first before moving after him. And all that would achieve is more death as he left the city without a protector and they ended up coming for him after they'd slaughtered everyone here.

No, better to stay where he is and fight and maybe, even, be able to save a few people's lives.

And, really, it's not like he'll be fighting alone. He's got Sam and Bobby and Castiel. And he's just watched footage of tanks set up a perimeter around the major areas in the city.

Not that _that_ will help keep the daimons away. Not if they can teleport straight into wherever they want.

But the extra firepower is certainly something that helps.

Also, the enforced curfew will help as well. Even if it makes things potentially harder for Dean in the short run. At least there won't be civilians out mingling and partying in the streets.

And, strangely enough, everyone seems to be _sticking_ to the curfew.

Not that there aren't a few unsavoury characters that aren't trying to loot a few places whilst people are missing, but in the long run, it's only the very foolhardy that aren't paying attention to the level of tension that has seeped into the city.

And then…and then it's time to move. The rattling of shutters automatically lifting as soon as the sun sets alerts Dean. He stands in the middle of his bedroom, Sam and his clothes strewn across the floor where Sam had dumped them out of their bags, and wonders if he'll ever see this again. If he'll live through tonight.

Then he realises that it probably doesn't matter and cocks his gun.

"Yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers." He says to the empty room, then leaves and locks the door behind him.

###

Dean had expected to find the streets deserted.

What he _didn't_ expect was for the silence to ratchet up the tension thrumming though his body. Honestly, he doesn't think he's ever been this high strung before. Because, whilst he's hunted things that have hidden from him – he's always known that they're _there_.

Right now, he doesn't know if he's going to run into a group of humans, daimons or demons. He doesn't even know if he's going to run into _anything_.

This would be so much better for his blood pressure if he gets to shoot something.

It's almost fate in the way that, as soon as he finishes that thought, a group of three daimons appear out of a bolthole, right in front of him. They're not looking at him and Dean manages to take one out with a shotgun blast to the back before they register his presence.

The second one goes down just as fast when Dean, dropping the gun instead of trying to reload it, lunges forward with a knife and stabs it.

The third, having gotten over his companions sudden deaths, is a lot harder to kill. And Dean takes a few solid hits to the ribs that he's going to feel tomorrow – if he's still alive that is – before he can twist enough to catch the daimon in the throat.

It staggers back, hands pressing futilely against the gash and Dean doesn't even hesitate burying his knife hilt deep into its chest.

It explodes into a poof of gold and Dean realises that he's not even winded, even if his heart is pounding in his chest.

"Interesting."

The dry voice behind him makes Dean jump and he whirls around to get a look at the person, ready and willing to attack if need be.

But it's not a daimon. Or a demon. Or _anything_ that Dean's ever seen or felt before. The power coming from him is _old_ and _deep_ and it scares the living shit out of him.

Dean tilts his chin and raises an eyebrow. "Who're you?"

The man tilts his head to the side, as if judging him, and Dean fights the urge to fidget. "I am Death."

The man is tall and pale with black hair. He's also wearing a very nice three-piece suit. All in all this is not what Dean expects Death to look like.

And yet, he's not even going to argue the claim because Dean can _feel_ the truth of his words in a way that ripples through the air.

"What?" Dean says, "You want a medal?"

Death smirks. "You know," he says conversationally, "you are an affront to nature." Before Dean can get pissy at the obvious insult, Death continues, "You've died and been resurrected so many times. And that irritates me."

He trails off and Dean grips his knife harder. "So…what? You going to reap me then?"

Death's smile gets just that little bit sharper. "No, Dean Winchester. Despite everything, I find myself amused by you." He gestures lightly to the space where the daimons have just died, "And you are doing me a favour. Even if I'm not going to do you one in return."

Dean shrugs and says, warily, "It's just my job."

Death chuckles, "Yes. I had thought you'd say that." He runs his eyes over Dean from head to toe in a slow approving glance. Dean tries not to shiver or let the thought that _Death_ may be checking him out run through his head.

"Goodbye, Dean Winchester." He says after a moment, "I'm sure that we will meet again."

And then Dean is alone again and the amount of adrenaline rushing through his system is making him feel ill.

He debates the pros and cons of throwing up in the middle of the street in enemy territory, and then decides that it probably isn't the best idea.

The adrenaline takes him through the next three fights before it starts to leave.

###

There's a tension in Sanctuary that is setting Sam's teeth on edge. He doesn't know if it's the contrite looks that the were-bears are sending at him, or if it's the fact that sunset was over an hour ago and Dean still hasn't turned up.

He thinks it's maybe a bit of both.

Luckily, he has Bobby to distract him and he can run the perimeter of the building again, making sure no idiot has broken the salt lines or messed up the devils traps that he's spray painted onto the floor and ceilings.

At first it had been difficult trying to speak cordial enough with the Peltier's long enough to explain what the stuff actually did. But he'd trained to be a lawyer for years and it was just like old times.

Eventually they'd seen reason, but Sam still doesn't trust them all that much.

And it wasn't helping that he still hasn't heard from Ash or Thorn.

He absentmindedly rubs his thumb across the mark Thorn left on the inside of his wrist. It tingles pleasantly, but not as much as when Thorn touches it. Which was…a bit embarrassing. But he can't stop his thumb from brushing across it again and again.

He doesn't even know if he really wants to.

The room is filled with were's of all different species. Sam doesn't know how he knows the differences between them, but he does. He supposes it must have something to do with being a Hellchaser now, as it's the only thing that's really changed since he's last seen them.

Sam is so caught up in his thinking that it takes him a second or two to realise that the atmosphere in the room has changed. He glances around; trying to find the disturbance and see's two men that hadn't been there moments before.

One of them Sam has seen before in Sanctuary. He was sitting with the green-haired man. But his companion isn't the same – he's a dark hunter. Sam can tell, because he has the tattoo on his face in the most ostentatious display of it he's ever seen.

It's almost as bad as Dean's, but at least Dean can hide his if he was going to wear a turtleneck or something. This guy has got no chance.

"Why am I here, Savitar?" The unnamed dark hunter says.

Savitar glances at the man to his left and then turns his attention back to Sam. It's slightly unnerving but Sam's not one to back down.

"There's something you need to learn, Nick." Savitar says and turns his attention back to Nick. "Also, you've got the east of this city. I think it'll do you some good."

Nick sneers, "Is this part of my _training?_ "

Savitar's eyebrow slowly climbs, "Yes." He says, "I'll be back to pick you up later. Don't die." And with that disappears.

Sam blinks.

Well, that was weird.

He looks around to see the were's are looking at Nick with a mixture of shock and awe. There's friendliness and aggression in there too and Sam could spend his time distracting himself about Dean's disappearance by trying to figure out the relationship this man has with them, but then the front door slams open and Dean stumbles in.

"Dean!" Sam yells, and is over at Dean's side before he realises what's happening.

Up close he notices that Dean's bleeding, his shirt's soaked in blood.

"Oh my God, Dean. You're bleeding!" Sam might be panicking just a little bit, "Did you get stabbed? Shot? Attacked?"

Dean smirks, even as he leans on Sam for support, "Ah, brings back good memories."

Sam wants to shake him. Now is not the time for jokes! Instead, he looks towards one of the Peltier's. It's the father. "Do you have any medical supplies?"

He has to ask, because like an idiot, he left their kit at the apartment – too busy trying to stuff spray cans of paint and talismans in there as well.

"There's a medical bay." He says, looking pained, as if he doesn't want Sam or Dean anywhere near it and yet can't refuse them.

Sam doesn't really care; he just gestures impatiently and drags Dean along.

When they get there Sam can sort of see why they were reluctant. The bear that attacked Dean, the one from the cage – at least Sam thinks it's the same one, it's kind of hard to tell what with there being four of them – is strapped to a medical bed.

He starts taunting them as soon as they step into the room and Sam can't help but stare until he notices one specific thing.

"Dean?" He asks.

Dean's looking grim besides him. He's still bleeding but his gaze is entirely focused on the man strapped down.

"Yeah," Dean says, "I see."

And really, that makes a lot of sense. Because they're both staring into the pitch black eyes of a demon.

###

Dean isn't as hurt as Sam first thought. The blood is mostly someone else's. Demons, Dean assures him. The only reason Dean was finding it hard to stand is because he'd taken a nasty shot to the ribs and thought he'd broken a couple.

Turns out he was right, but he isn't really paying attention to the man wrapping bandages tightly around his chest. Instead he's watching Sam as Sam carefully draws a devil's trap on the floor.

He's not the only one, there's a bunch of other were's – mostly the Peltier's – who are staring at him and what he's doing. Sam ignores them; he's had a lot of practise tonight doing just that.

When he's done he steps back and observes his handiwork. It's as perfect as always. You really don't want to mess this sort of thing up.

Dean waits until the bandage gets tied off and then hops off the table.

"We good to go?"

Sam nods and steps aside as two of the quintuplets wheel the bed in. Quinn – they found out his name when they were explaining about demon possession – is still railing at them. But Sam's too busy checking that the wheels haven't smudged any of the devil's trap.

Dean glances over as Bobby enters the room on his sweep of the building. He looks over the trap, checking it one last time – now is _not_ the night to have a demon loose in the building – and nods at Sam.

"Good work." He says, "I'll leave you boys to it. Gotta go check none of them eejits have messed up anything when I've been gone."

Sam nods and waits until the door closes and Dean locks it. He takes a deep breath as Dean cocks his shotgun and then starts the exorcism.

It's hard. The demon's been possessing Quinn for a while. But Sam doesn't falter and eventually it explodes out of Quinn's mouth in a rolling cloud of sulphuric smoke. Quinn collapses back on the bed, panting, but Sam keeps going until the demon streams away, heading back to hell.

It's not until the lights stop flickering that Sam stops and Dean unlocks the door and steps out of the way. Immediately the room is filled with worried were-bears and Sam and Dean step back, not wanting to get in the way.

There's only one difference. The dark hunter, Nick, is also there. It seems he's close friends with this family. Sam's not too sure what to think about that. Instead, he turns to Dean.

"Where's Castiel?"

Dean shrugs and then winces, "He said he was going out to fight. I'm not worried, he'll check in when he can."

Sam frowns, "Thorn and Ash haven't checked in either. I'm worried about them."

It's a private conversation, that's why they're both surprised to hear a scoff from the other side of the room. It came from Nick, who's sneering at them.

"Excuse me?" Sam says.

"Acheron. You shouldn't be worried about that bastard."

And then Sam gets it. This is _Nick_. Scorn fills him, but he doesn't get the first word in. That honour goes to Dean who steps slightly in front of Sam and looks Nick up and down. He looks so unimpressed that Nick actually bristles.

"And who are _you_ supposed to be?"

Nick grinds his teeth together but Sam knows this game. He's played it with Dean before on the schoolyard and during hunting. He steps up besides his brother and gives Nick a once over as well.

He's not impressed.

"This is _Nick_." Sam says, as if it explains everything. And really, it kind of does. "The guy who blames Ash for all his problems."

That snaps Nick out of it. "I don't blame Ash for all my problems!"

Sam scoffs, "Could've fooled me."

"You have no idea what Ash did to me, _human_. So I think you should keep your mouth shut before I do it for you."

Sam straightens, "Actually, I _do_ know what happened. Just as I know that what happened wasn't Ash's fault. Just as I know he still blames himself for it anyway."

Sam and Nick are standing toe to toe now, both having met in the middle. They're the exact same height so neither really has an advantage over the other in that aspect.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." Sam says, trying to restrain punching the dark hunter in the face. It's harder than he expected because all he can remember is Ash's face when Sam held him as he confessed everything.

Nick hisses. Actually hisses. "He killed my mom. She was all I had; you have no idea what it's like to lose that."

Sam isn't impressed. "Actually I do." He says, "I know exactly what it feels like, multiple times. But firstly, he didn't kill your mother. That was a daimon."

Nick looks like he's going to say something but Sam just talks over him, not letting him get a word in. "And don't say that it was because he _said_ it was going to happen. Because he didn't. If anything you should blame the fates.

"Every prophesy can be interpreted in multiple ways. It's _they_ who chose to change destiny to include your mother's death, not Ash.

" _Secondly_ , you see him?" Sam points to Dean who's wearing a smirk and gives a small wave as Nick glances over, "He's my brother. He's the only family I have in the world and Ash held me back as a demon killed him in front of me. Twice.

"Now, you'd think that _that_ would make me hate him, yes? Because Ash was actually there. Ash actually stopped me from helping.

"But I don't hate him. You know why? It's because it's _not his fault_.

"And do you want to know the third reason you shouldn't blame Ash for all your perceived sins? It's because instead of doing everything you could to get your mother back, you used your death for nothing more than a chance to get revenge.

"See, you were destined to kill yourself, but you could have done almost anything with that to get your mother back. You could have sold your soul to a crossroads demon and not only got your mother back, but probably would have had ten more years with her. And it would still have classified as suicide.

"But you didn't. You took the most time effective way and demanded what you wanted. And when you didn't get it you continued to blame others for it.

"See, that's where we're different. When Dean died in front of me, I was willing to die to get him back. I was willing to do anything to bring him back. And I did. Ash took me to see someone and I sold myself into eternal servitude. But it was worth it.

"And you know what? _I still don't blame Ash._ "

Sam's breathing heavily by the time he's finished and the room is completely silent. He'd stay and try and beat more sense into Nick's head, but looking at him is making him ill and he needs to get out of here. So he turns and brushes by a gobsmacked Dean and heads back to the bar.

He needs a drink, and he needs it now.

He doesn't get it. As soon as he steps into the room he sees Bobby's worried face and hears "We got a problem."

###

Meg is having a whale of a time. Who knew that daimons could be such fun?

But right now she's got bigger fish to fry. Dean's managed to give her the slip so far, but she's just had confirmation that both he and Sam are holed up in this rat infested dump. The daimon's won't enter, and the place has been tricked out with so many anti-demon wards that Meg has to roll her eyes at it all.

Luckily she's got an ace up her sleeve.

"Alistair."

She feels Alistair step up behind her.

"Get Ruby will you?"

Alistair melts back into the crowd of demons she's brought with her. Some of the ones she's released have left to wreak havoc at large, but most of them are ones that have been sent back to hell by the brothers over the years and want their revenge.

Meg smirks.

What sort of leader would she be if she doesn't give her demons what they want?

###

Dean and Sam are peering out of the window. The entire place is surrounded by rows and rows of demon possessed humans.

"You getting déjà vu?" Dean asks.

Sam shivers. "Like you wouldn't believe."

There's a ripple in the crowd and a man starts to drag a woman through. They stop by Meg just long enough for Meg to stroke her hair.

"Oh boys!" Meg calls cheerfully, "Look what I have for you!"

The man throws the woman to the ground in the space that's been left open.

"Sam?" The woman says, and Sam feels his heart clench.

"Ruby." He whispers and feels Dean tense beside him.

Meg smirks and gestures again. "Hurt her."

The man moves forward and Ruby starts to scream.

"Shit." Dean mutters. Dean's never liked Ruby, but it seems he can't stand to see her tortured. Especially when it's happening right in front of them.

"We have to go help!" Sam says and grabs the demon killing knife before running out of the door to Dean's muffled curses.

Sam knows that this is one of the stupidest things he's ever done, but Ruby's done a lot for them and he's not going to see her get killed without trying to stop it. Sam also knows that he's probably only got one chance at this so he doesn't stop and he doesn't try to grandstand. He just keeps running towards the man on top of Ruby and when he's close enough, slams the knife into his neck.

Demon's can heal from mostly anything so the man doesn't even try to dodge the blow. He doesn't get long to realise his mistake. But, to Sam's surprise and horror, the knife doesn't seem to be working as the demon smirks and starts to raise his hand.

And it's then that Sam knows that he's going to die.

Or at least, he thinks he is. Because as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Thorn's mark on his wrist starts to burn and power slams through his hand and down the knife.

The demon is thrown back, lighting up from the inside as it's burnt out of the vessel for the last time.

There's a pause and then Meg says "Alistair?" Sounding shocked.

Sam's shocked too. He has no idea what's just happened, but he knows he's got maybe ten more seconds before Meg snaps out of her shock and turns on them. He has to get Ruby out of there now.

He turns to help Ruby off the floor but is stopped by a sharp pain in his side. Glancing down he sees the hilt of a knife sticking out of his stomach. A knife held by Ruby.

"R-Ruby…?" He chokes out, but she just stares at him blankly. Distantly he feels his knees give out and he drops to the floor. "Ru-"

"Sam!" It's Dean. Dean is screaming his name, but Sam can't look at him. Can only see Ruby as she draws the knife back out and goes to stab him again.

He can't believe he's been so stupid.

And then Ruby freezes and suddenly lights up from the inside. Sam blinks sluggishly as she collapses in front of him to reveal Thorn. A furious looking Thorn. A furious looking Thorn who takes one look at Sam and _bellows_.

There's a _whumpf_ and it's like all the air in the world is sucked into the spot Thorn is standing in. And then it explodes outwards. Sam gasps as it passes through him and he hears Dean cursing somewhere to his right.

But the demon's that have had them surrounded come off worse. Each and every one of them light up from the inside as Thorn kills them without even touching them.

Sam turns his head to the side to try and find Dean, to see if he's okay. But he can't really tell because Dean is being sheltered by Castiel who is gripping him tightly and covering him with his body.

There must be something else at work as well, because whereas the wave of power is acting like a localised tornado not ten feet away from where Castiel and Dean are lying, neither of them seem to be effected by it.

Sam wonders if Castiel is covering them with his wings.

Sam must lose a few minutes then, because the next time he finishes blinking he's in Dean's arms as Thorn presses one hand against his stomach. The other hand is clenched around his marked wrist. Sam feels warm and safe and when Thorn meets his gaze, looking irritated and worried, Sam just smiles at him before falling asleep.

###

Meg only just manages to escape before the wave of power kills her where she stands. She's trembling when she finally collapses against a wall. That was the most terrifying thing she's ever seen.

She has to keep running now. She can't stop. If she does then Akantheus will kill her.

Fuck, she hadn't known that he was in on it with the Winchester brothers. She hadn't even known that he was swanning about on _earth_.

Shakily, she pushes herself up. She can't go back to hell, Akantheus will follow and she'll just be trapped. Her only hope is to hide for however long it takes.

Plan made she takes a deep breath, turns and screams.

"Hello demon," Artemis says, a god bolt crackling in her hand, "remember me?"

Meg doesn't even have the time to open her mouth before the god bolt is slammed into her and everything goes black.

###

Artemis stands over the burnt up husk of one of her nymphs. The demon was dead, finally. And she had her hunter's soul back so all in all she was happy.

It has been an enlightening few weeks and now she wants nothing more than to curl up in her temple and let nature soothe her.

And if she is to keep an extra close eye on Dean? Well…nobody will know.

###

It has come to this.

Ash and Stryker have been fighting for hours now. They're pretty evenly matched; each drop of blood drawn from one is drawn from the other.

They're both exhausted, but neither backs down. Ash is probably worse off though as he's used up a lot of power today, fighting daimons and demons for hours before he came upon Stryker. And then he's had to protect himself from the battalion of daimons Stryker was with.

Luckily he's had practise killing daimons, and he's pleased to note that there's only three daimons left of the twenty he found Stryker with.

Unfortunately, he's at his limit and he knows it. But he won't let Stryker know.

"Give it up Stryker."

Stryker's answer is to raise his chin. "Acheron, did you honestly expect that to work?"

Ash grits his teeth because _no_ , he hadn't. Instead he asks another question.

"Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm _sick of it!_ " Stryker snaps. "Sick of everything and you will die today, Ash, if it's the last thing I do."

Ash feels coldness settle in his chest. "If you kill me, you'll release Apollymi and end the world."

Stryker lets out a bitter chuckle and throws his arms out wide, his eyes filled with hate and hopelessness. It would be a perfect shot if Ash had _any_ power left at all. As it is, he's just trying not to fall on his face.

"The end of the world?" Stryker asks, "Don't you think we're already _there?_ Why should I care anymore?"

And Ash realises that Stryker is being completely and deadly serious. Before their altercations have always been careful. Stryker, for all his faults, has never wanted the world to _end_. He's just wanted to get revenge.

But now…

Stryker wants to kill him. And he doesn't even care that he'll be killing himself in the process.

Just what has led him to this moment? And how did Ash not see?

"So what are a few more deaths?" Stryker finishes.

"They're a lot." Comes a bland voice from the side.

Ash jerks his head around to see the newcomer, ignoring the way the world span at the movement.

There's a man there. Standing innocuously between them as if he's not in danger of his life. Ash wants to ask who he is and what he's doing, when he feels it – the power this man holds – and knows exactly what he is.

"What? How did you get here?" Stryker spits, "Who do you think you are? This is between me and him."

The man, Death, is looking at Ash. But at Stryker's words he turns his head to face him.

"I am here," he says slowly, "because I am everywhere. I also wouldn't normally care but you've disrupted the balance far beyond what I am willing to tolerate."

"What?" Stryker says, and then collapses to the floor as _power_ presses down on them. Ash isn't much better either. But at least he manages to sink gracefully to the ground instead of getting slammed into it.

The man stalks forward. "Strykerius."

Stryker sucks in a panicked breath, finally realising just who and what this person is. He tries to scramble back but he can't. Death stops just out of reach.

"I will not allow you to disrupt it anymore for a long time. You have twenty seconds to leave."

Stryker might not have been able to move, but his troops sure were. Within seconds they'd grabbed Stryker and were hauling him towards a bolthole that one of them opens. Stryker is pale and trembling in their arms, unable to stand on his own. But when he's through and back in Kalosis he turns his attention back to Ash once again.

"This isn't over, Acheron. One day I will kill you."

"But not today." Death says, and the bolthole closes abruptly.

Ash is left sitting alone on the ground, reeling at what has just happened. Was it over? Was this day finally over?

Death's crouching in front of him. Ash has no idea when he got there.

"I will be reaping the rest of the daimons participating." Death says quietly, "They have escaped me for far too long and their lives have become forfeit."

Ash blinks. It takes longer than it should. "Then why did you let Stryker go?" His words come out slurred.

Death looks at him and Ash thinks he sees pity in his eyes. "You are tied together much closer than you realise. And you are not so insignificant. I will not upset the balance."

Ash tries to make sense of it but he is just too drained.

"Come on."

Savitar's voice startles him and Ash almost tips over if it weren't for the strong hands keeping him upright.

"Savitar?"

Savitar smirks as he drags Ash up like Ash weighs nothing, throwing Ash's arm around his shoulder. "Come on," he says again, "You're useless like this. I'll take you back to mine and you can finish sorting everything out once you've had enough sleep to remember your name."

Right now, this makes the most sense Ash has heard all day. There is the small feeling that he should be protesting this and helping his dark hunters. But Savitar is warm and keeping him standing so he gives up and leans fully on his friend.

"Sounds good."

Savitar snorts. "Of course it sounds good." He says, "I said it."

"Wait." Ash blinks, "Wait. Nick."

Savitar tightens his grip on Ash's waist and slides a sly glance at him. "Oh, Nick. Yeah well…Nick had to learn something from your new friend."

Ash frowns but can't make his mouth work enough to ask what Savitar is going on about.

"Besides," Savitar continues, "he's at Sanctuary, he's safe for now. I'll pick him up when I feel he's learnt his lesson."

"What?" Ash asks. It's the only word he can get his mouth to say right now.

Savitar smiles. "That Sam." He says instead, "I think he's good for a lot of people."

###

Outside is quiet. Dean's not too sure what's happening in the rest of the world right now, but in New Orleans, it seems the fighting is over. Bur right now he's more interested in staring at the reflection in the mirror.

He has a handprint burnt into his arm.

Its Castiel's of course. He got it when Castiel threw himself on top of Dean to protect him from Thorn's power. Dean hadn't been able to see anything other than wings and the startling blue of Castiel's eyes.

But apparently using grace to counter grace was a dangerous game.

"I apologise."

Dean jumps and looks past his shoulder in the mirror. Castiel is behind him staring at the mark on his arm in sorrow.

Dean feels slightly embarrassed that he's not wearing a top.

"Nah," he brushes it off, "it's fine."

"I hurt you." Castiel says and Dean has to turn around because he can't have this conversation with his back turned.

"Seriously, Cas. It's fine."

Castiel is a lot closer than he was before. Dean thinks he should say something about personal space but Castiel is looking so unsure that he lets it go.

"It is not nothing." Castiel says and, for a reason Dean doesn't want to examine too closely, he shivers.

"Mmm…"

Castiel moves even closer and hesitantly reaches up to place his hand over the burn. Instead of the pain Dean is expecting, he's assaulted by something a lot more inconvenient and he can barely stop himself from shivering again.

"I would make it up to you." Castiel's voice is quieter.

Dean licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "I can think of a few things." He says, his voice low and rough.

Castiel blinks and does not look away.

###

Sam is sitting on a spare bed in Sanctuary. Thorn is with him, leaning against the wall and staring. He's not saying anything which is making Sam nervous. Extremely nervous.

Sam traces the pattern of Thorn's mark with his fingertips, just for something to do. He doesn't really want to meet Thorn's eyes because he knows that it'll start off the conversation that begins with "What the hell were you thinking running outside to save a demon?" and ends with "I've decided you're too much hassle."

No. Sam is not keen to start _that_ conversation.

He jerks when Thorn's hand closes around his mark and meets his gaze.

"You know," Thorn says, and his voice is deeper than usual and contains hints of something that makes Sam's stomach tighten, "I can feel it when you do that."

It takes Sam a moment to work out what Thorn means and then he flushes. Thorn's been able to feel him stroking the mark all the time.

Fuck.

Sam opens his mouth to apologise but his breath catches in his throat when Thorn pushes him back, pressing him against the bed. He's looming over Sam, his body warm where they're touching, and tilts his head.

Sam notices that Thorn's eyes are a bright blue again. They're very distracting.

"I didn't say stop." Thorn whispers against Sam's lips. And then Sam is distracted by a lot more than teeth and tongue and the slick press of skin against skin and muffled moans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God. This chapter just wouldn't die. Seriously. But I want to thank all of you who have read this far and enjoyed it! I also want to thank each and every one of you who reviewed :)
> 
> I hope it was a fun ride and I'll see you next year!
> 
> Demon Sloth x


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